


UnKnown

by DorthyAnn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bullying, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Loneliness, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Ostracism, Power Imbalance, Self Destructive Behaviour, That feeling of being in a room full of people you know and being completely and utterly alone, lying, lying by omission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26436325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorthyAnn/pseuds/DorthyAnn
Summary: Draco just wanted a second chance, he was willing to work hard, he was willing to do whatever it took, but no one would let him live down his past. But when he recklessly casts a spell promising a new life, he's not prepared for the consequences...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 84
Kudos: 441
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you hurt mods for putting this together and for your patience when I needed an extension! Thanks to my sis for betaing for me. And-AND thank you gracerene for the prompt that inspired me, I hope you like it!

  
  


An umbrella swung out, catching Draco’s foot and roughly jerking up. Before he was aware of it happening, he was falling, hitting the stone cobbles with a sudden shock. He felt the impact before the pain, a sharp sting in his knee that made him hiss. A quick check found his knee skinned and bleeding into the torn fabric of his trousers.

Half-melted snow soaked into his robes as he sat in the middle of the street, people walking around him. There was laughter around him, the sort people do behind their hands, with turned heads where they don’t mind mocking you, just not directly to your face. That would somehow be just too rude.

“You’re impeding traffic.”

Draco looked up.

Potter frowned down at him, his auror uniform haloing him in crimson, “You need to move, Malfoy, you’re impeding traffic.”

“I was tripped,” Draco snapped.

“It’s slippery with this slush on the ground,” Potter said brusquely, “Be more careful,” and then he was gone, without even offering a hand up.

Draco’s wrist thrummed a rift of agony as he pushed himself. The pain faded into a dull ache as he shook his hands off and then shoved them into his pockets, trying to warm them up.

He could heal the cut himself, but he didn’t know what sort of spell would heal a sprain. Draco knew better than to try and go to Mungos, they couldn’t refuse to see him, but it wasn’t worth the hostility and rough handling he always got when he went.

Through the growing cold and shivers racing down his spine, Draco made his way to the nearest apparition zone.

His mother was waiting at the doors of the manor when he arrived.

“How did the shopping go, Draco? Are you alright?” Mother asked, her pale face drawn thin with worry.

“London got just enough snow to be a nuisance, and I slipped,” Draco lied, not wanting to worry her.

Mother rushed outside, her eyes wide with concern, “Are you injured?”

“Just a sprained wrist,” Draco assured her, putting his arm around her shoulder and leading her inside, “Come on, you’re going to catch cold if you’re not careful.”

“Oh… yes, of course,” Mother said, the energy draining from her as she stepped back into the marbled hall.

Draco quickly closed the doors, more concerned with getting his mother safe and warm before she got sick again than his sprained wrist. She had only just recovered from the last illness that had left her bed-bound for weeks and was still weak. Not that she ever seemed to fully recover anymore. It tortured Draco to see her growing more thin and haggard with every passing season, unable to do anything, and desperately afraid he would lose her too. Then he really would be alone.

“Draco, darling, please won’t you use the house elves for the shopping next time? You don’t have to go out. You can stay here,” Mother said.

Draco hesitated, “...Of course, yes. That’s a good idea.” he agreed to placate her. He already sent the elves to do most of their shopping, but picking potion ingredients that met to his standards was something he could only do in person.

“Oh, good. That’s good,” Mother said, relieved, "The library should have a healers spellbook to fix your sprain. I’m going to lie down before dinner.”

Draco pressed a brief kiss to the top of her hair, “I shall see you then.”

He went to the library, summoning a book of healing spells from the tall shelves and collapsing into a high backed leather chair to flip through it. It took him a few tries to get the spell right once he found it and he flexed his wrist absently, waiting for the pain and finding none.

Draco set the book aside and let himself slide down in the chair. He ran his hands over the armrest, the dark leather smooth and cool to the touch. Somehow, he had picked his father’s favourite chair without noticing. Perhaps because it had been years since he had seen his father in it. Even before being sent to Azkaban for the last time, the war hadn’t really been a time for reading for pleasure.

He pushed his robe back, unbuttoning his sleeve and pushing it up. He traced his fingers over the soft skin of his forearm, where the dark mark used to be, now it was all black. Wizarding tattooists wouldn’t work with him, but muggle artists had no such compunction. To Rick, the tattooist he found, it had just been a cover-up tattoo, even if his old tattoo wouldn’t take the ink and it had taken repeated sessions to finally blend the dark mark into the rest of the flat black gauntlet. Draco turned his arm over, running along the top of his forearm where a fragile white narcissus, bloomed in the middle of the dark black ink. Rick had warned him that such fine lines would fade and blur grey as he got older, but he didn’t care. At the time it had been too important, a way to move on, a way to remember his mother and the sacrifices she had made for him, a promise of new life and new growth…

But there was no new life and no way to move on. Not when no one would even give him a chance.

Draco raised his hand, “Accio a new life,” he said bitterly.

He hadn't expected anything, much less the sound that followed, the faint rattling of metal.

Draco rose his feet, following the sound, though he had a feeling he knew where it was coming from. He stopped by a blank patch of wall, touching the cold stones cautiously. He had seen his father do this once but never opened it himself.

Draco removed the pin on his cloak, pricking his thumb and pressing the welling bead of blood against one particular stone. The wall shivered and the stones folded back onto themselves into a mantle beneath a single shelf of books. A large metal strap covered the front of the books, to keep them safe from being summoned and found.

“accio a new life,” Draco said quietly, twitching his wand.

A book in the centre of the shelf shivered and strained against the heavy iron band. The leather of its spine was dark, unmarked by title or author.

Draco reached his hand out, feeling the uncomfortable prickle of dark magic-

“Master Draco,” Libbi, one of the house elves called from across the room, “Dinner is served.”

“Yes… thank you,” Draco said, pulling his hand away. He cast a cleaning spell, removing his blood and closing the hidden bookshelf once more.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco ate dinner with his mother, doing his best to keep the conversation light and distracted. He tried to convince her to move out of the Manor again, to somewhere smaller, quieter, but she wouldn’t hear it. She never would. She was so deeply rooted in the idea of being there for him and support him as the head of the family that the idea of leaving the Manor was entirely out the question.

Mother retired early, and Draco finished the bottle of wine which his mother had barely touched. As night drew deep, he poured himself a whiskey and as he finished that, the alcohol warming his blood and melting through what inhibition he had left; Draco went back to the library.

He opened the bookcase and unlocked the metal bar, drawing out the book. It was cold to the touch and smelled faintly of dried blood. Draco didn’t bother reading through it, he looked at neither the title nor the other spells he flipped past promising him riches and power and revenge, none of it was what he wanted.

Draco tipped his glass up, fishing the last of the whiskey, wincing as it burned down his throat. The world swayed faintly under his feet, his eyes almost not focusing as he turned another page and stopped.

He _wanted_ to start over.

That’s all he wanted.

Draco studied the spell the book outlined. It wasn’t that difficult, it was just a few circles and sigils, a few words. He couldn’t do it in the library though, no, that wouldn’t do. He returned to his rooms in the corner of the east wing with the book, locking his doors behind him. The bottle of fire whiskey was still open, and he drank straight from the bottle as he moved the chairs and furniture and rolled up the rug, so the bare floorboards were exposed.

He used a charm to draw the magic circles, but the sigils had to drawn by hand, so on hands and knees, sweat dripping off his nose and marking the wood darker, he sketched the sigils with a conjured piece of chalk. He wobbled to his feet once he was done. Stumbling and nearly falling, he none-the-less raised the whiskey bottle to his lip, tipping it up and up and up to drain the last sip from the bottom.

The bottle fell from his hand and rolled in a half-circle across the floor. Draco kicked it out of the way as he stepped into the centre. The world was swimming around him, and the dark, desperate ache in his chest had only grown, tipping him on the knifepoint edge between despair and drunken stupor.

Somehow, he found the book again, holding it nearly against his face to focus on the words. He was supposed to say the words alone, unencumbered, ut he was too drunk to make sense of that and just moved onto the spell itself. He traced the words with his finger as he said them, still careful to enunciate even as he was foolish to be casting it at all. The sigils began to glow one by one as he spoke, the glow becoming brighter and brighter until the light became fire and burned him from the inside out.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco woke slowly, his head pounding with agony. The floor was hard and coarse against his bare skin. He didn’t know why he was naked. The taste in his mouth was enough to make him retch, but he made it to the toilet before he threw up what little was left in his stomach. He took a hangover potion as soon as he could stand, his last one, and a long hot shower.

He dressed and fixed his hair, noticing absently that there was no tray waiting for him by his bed. Though considering the state of his room, he understood the elves giving him a wide berth.

There was a black circular scorch mark in the centre of the floor and piles of ash, what was left of his clothes he guessed for whatever poorly thought out spell he had tried to cast. A single larger pile of ash had a few fragments of blackened paper on the remains of a book board. He searched his memory and came up with nothing, rubbing his temples in frustration. He was lucky he hadn’t accidentally killed himself with such stupidity.

It was early enough his mother would still be sleeping. Draco wasn’t in the mood for Bisci’s cooking which was too heavy on his stomach after a night of drinking, and he desperately wanted a latte. So despite his promises to Mother, he flooed to the Leaky Cauldron from the fireplace in his room.

Draco kept his head ducked as he walked, tensed for stinging jinxes and snarled insults but the people around him kept to themselves. The line at the cafe wound out the door, those waiting kept warm by a halo of warming charms. Draco knew better than to draw his wand in public and hunched in his robes, his breath coming out in steaming clouds.

Warmth settled over him like a blanket.

Draco turned, and the old witch behind him gave him a polite smile, “Best not to catch a chill.”

“Thank you,” Draco said cautiously.

The old woman nodded her head, and nothing more was said.

The inside of the cafe was loud and almost stiflingly warm compared to the outside. Tiffany, the barista at the counter was, unfortunately, familiar. Draco knew her bitter-cold tone far too well and the way she wrote his name Malfoy, so large it covered half the cup as if to tell the world who he was. As if they needed reminding.

“Good morning! What can get you today?” Tiffany asked.

“Ah- W-well, a large vanilla latte, please,” Draco said, placing a galleon on the counter.

Tiffany nodded, grabbing a cup and pen, “Name?”

“Sorry?” Draco said faintly.

“Your name? I write on the cup, and they call it once your drink is ready.” Tiffany smiled brightly at him, “Is this your first time in a muggle-style coffee shop?”

Draco shook his head, “It’s Draco.”

“Draco. I like that,” Tiffany passed him his change.

Draco dropped the assortment of sickles and knuts in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” Tiffany called as Draco stepped out of the way to wait.

A five minutes later they called, “Draco!”

Even though the shop was crowded, everyone must have heard his name, noticed he was there, noticed _him_ , Draco Malfoy.

“Vanilla latte for Draco!” the barista called again.

Draco raised a belated hand and got his drink. He was lifting the cup to take a tentative sip when someone bumped into his shoulder. Draco jerked away as coffee splattered onto the floor and over his shoes.

“Sorry!” a familiar voice said, “It’s so crowded in here. Let just me-” Potter fumbled out his wand and cast a cleaning charm.

Draco froze at the sight of Potter’s wand, waiting for the worst.

Potter looked up from the now clean floor and blinked at Draco owlishly, “Uh, I- Um...”

Potter’s eyes drifted over Malfoy as he continued to stutter, and Draco finally snapped out of his frozen panic, excusing himself with a quick, “Pardon me.”

Draco hurried down the street until he found a quiet corner. Something wasn’t right. People weren’t reacting to him like they usually did. It had to be that spell he had cast last night, something happened- something-

He squeezed his eyes shut desperately trying to remember anything from the night before, everything after dinner was blank but before… before he had gone to the library- and there had been a book.

Draco’s eyes shot open, “A book from the hidden shelf.”

All those books were illegal, dark or blood magic. He would have had to have been mad to even consider using a spell in one of them.

Or drunk. Which was close enough when it came to him.

He had wanted a new life, a second chance… but nothing in those books would come without a cost. There was something…

Draco frowned to himself. He couldn’t do anything standing in the street. He needed to go home and see if he could find the damned book.

“Hey! Hello, I...”

Draco looked up to find Potter in front of him once again.

“I’m, uh, glad I was able to find you. I would have kicked myself if I never got to see you again,” Potter said. He was shifting his weight nervously and smiling. “I’m- I’m Harry Potter.”

“Yes?” Draco said, “I know.”

“Oh, right. Err, sorry about earlier,” Potter said.

“It’s fine,” Draco said carefully, “It was an accident.”

“What’s your name?” Potter asked.

Draco’s world went still as he stared at the man in front of him, the one he had known since he was eleven years old. Who hated him. Who just yesterday had used his name. “...Draco. My name is Draco.” he said haltingly.

“Draco... like the constellation?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded.

“I’ve never seen you around before. Did you just move to London?” Potter asked.

Draco mutely shook his head.

“Well,” Potter’s tongue darted over his lips, “I was wondering if you’d like to get a coffee sometime or lunch or... anything?”

“Coffee?” Draco asked numbly. None of it felt real. Nothing about what was happening could possibly be real. He _needed_ to go home.

Potter nodded, looking more confident, “Yeah! Yeah, that’d be- that’d be great. When would work for you? I’m off tomorrow, or no, that’s too soon, probably?”

“Look, I need- I need to go,” Draco said.

“Wait-!” Potter said.

Draco stepped around Potter, “I really-”

“Can I owl you?” Potter asked.

“Fine, fine, I have to _go_ ,” Draco excused himself brusquely, walking as fast as he could without breaking into a run back to the pub. He threw floo powder into the fire and stepped in, calling out the manor. No sooner had he been pulled into the flooways, he was spat right back into the pub, tripping and nearly falling onto the stone floor.

A man in a blue robe caught his arm, “Careful there, lad. Watch your step.”

Draco was too close to panicking to thank him, rushing back out into the street and apprarating to the Manor directly. He landed outside the massive wrought iron gates, the house behind it looking stark in the cold winter sun.

Draco hurried up the gravel drive and nearly ran into the gates as they stayed stubbornly closed.

The metal began to twist and change its shape into a face that scowled at him, “State your purpose!”

“What?! It’s me! Draco! Draco Malfoy!” Draco said.

“You are not known! State! Your! Purpose!!” the gate shouted.

“To come home! Let me in!” Draco snapped, drawing his wand though he knew it was no good. The gate was connected to the wards, if the gate wasn’t letting him in, the wards wouldn’t recognise him either.

“Denied!!” The gate boomed.

The face began to change back, metal reforming back into its original shape.

“Wait! Wait!” Draco said frantically, “Let me- Let me talk to- to Libbi!”

“Hmmm,” the gate said, its face still fading.

“Libbi the house elf! Tell her to come talk to me!” Draco said, grabbing the cold metal and shaking the gate.

The gate was still and unmoving, sweeping black iron curled and wove around the nameplate in the centre reading _Malfoy_.

There was a snap of apparition, and Libbi appeared behind the gate, “You ask for Libbi?”

“Libbi!” Draco said with relief, “You know me! Don’t you? Let me in!”

Libbi shook her head, “Libbi is afraid she doesn’t know you.”

“But- you...” Draco’s words cracked, “you were my nurse-maid. You helped _raise_ me.”

Libbi blinked owlishly at him.

“You- you must remember me? I- The son of Lucius and Narcissa, Draco Malfoy?”

Libbi shook her head, “The Master is dead. The Mistress is alone. She has no children.”

“...No ...children?” Draco said.

Libbi shook her head again, “Do you need, Libbi? Because Libbi needs to work now.”

“Wait! Wait,” Draco grabbed the bars again, “Is- Is- the mistress, is she doing well? How is she? How is her health? Is it well?”

Libbi hesitated, ears drooping.

“ _Please_ , I want her to be well,” Draco said.

“She is well,” Libbi said softly, snapping her fingers and disappearing again.

Draco slowly sank to his knees; his whole body trembling with complete and utter despair.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
Draco sat on the ground until the gravel digging into him hurt too much to ignore. He stumbled to his feet, legs half numbed but still horribly painful and eventually mustered the strength to go back to Diagon Alley. It was quieter at midday, and Draco ignored his grumbling empty stomach to go the bookshop, heading to the back shelves.

It took a while to find the single copy of Bellund’s Peerage, the book listing all the old magic families and bloodlines of Europe. The Malfoys took up several pages with families all over France, and one in England, one that listed his grandparents and parents, but not him. After Narcissa (née Black) and Lucius Malfoy was nothing.

He went to the history books next. There had been quite a few books about the war, but Rita Skeeter’s had been the worst of them. Draco flipped through the pages, looking for the numerous mentions of him but finding them missing. Hogwarts had been breached by death eaters, Dumbledore had still died, nothing had changed. He was there, just erased. It was as if an obliviate had been cast over the entire world, but it had only removed him.

Draco shook his head, he wasn’t going to panic. Oblivates could be reversed, no matter what sort of book he had cast the spell from. He had a few galleons on him, and he always carried the key to his small personal vault. He didn’t know if the goblins would let him into his vault with no way to identify himself, but he had to try.

He went to Gringott's and gave them his small silver key. The vault was registered to no one but Draco managed to convince them that was their error, not his and that he had just moved to the city. The vault was disappointing, about three hundred galleons and a trunk filled with some of his old school books and supplies.

Draco took enough money to get something to eat, not really tasting it. He spent hours asking around for places to rent, but space was precious. What few flats were available cost three or four hundred galleons a month and if he wanted to buy _anything_ else to live off of, Draco couldn’t afford even the cheapest one.

He stood in the street, looking up at the buildings around him as the cold dread he had been carrying in his gut began to spread and fill him until Draco felt like he was slowly drowning inside himself. He was alone. It was sixth year again, an impossible task with no help, alone. But back then he hadn’t been truly alone. Greg and Vince had helped, and his mother had always, always been there. They never said it out loud, but the knowledge that they could run, escape to anywhere else if things got too bad, kept him going when things were darkest.

He didn’t know what he was going to do. The book was gone, the memory, the spell. He couldn’t go home to even look. And Mother... if he saw her and she didn’t know him, it would break him in ways he didn’t dare contemplate. She was all he had left in the world, and now he had _nothing_.

“Hey. Hey, mate? You alright? You want me to, uh, fetch someone for you?”

Draco looked up. He had sunk to his knees on the stone cobbles without realising. Standing across the street was Weasley, looking as tall and red-headed as usual, with a look of concern on his face which was unusual when it came to Draco.

It was dark out. Weasley appeared to be closing up the Wizard Wheezes shop, charming the pavement signs inside.

Draco looked around, “...I was… no… I’m- I’m fine.”

“You say that, but you’ve been standing there for ages. You got hit by a obliviate or something?”

“Something like that,” Draco staggered to his feet, his knees painfully stiff.

“I could side-along you to St Mungo’s?” Weasley offered.

Draco shook his head, “No- No. I was looking for a flat or somewhere to rent, but everything is so expensive, and I was… overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, that’s London for you doesn’t matter if you’re a muggle or a wizard, it costs a ton to live here. Hogsmeade’s a bit cheaper, but there aren’t many rentals there. Your best bet is to rent muggle in a small town or split a rental with some mates,” Weasley said.

“Right,” Draco looked down the street, “I’ll… I’ll look into it. I’d best see if I can let a room in one of the pubs for the night.” He hesitated, “Thanks… Thank you.”

Weasley smiled in confusion, “No problem, mate. Just- y’know, common courtesy.”

Draco returned the smile hesitantly, “I haven’t had a lot of that recently.”

“You new in town? A distinctive bloke like you, I’d think I’d remember seeing before,” Weasley said.

“Distinctive?” Draco said.

Weasley pointed to his head.

Draco reached up and touch his own head before the realisation hit him, “Oh. You mean my hair?”

“Thought you were an old man at first. You must be like Norwegian or Swedish? Finnish? A ton of them are pale as salt.” Weasley said.

Draco shrugged, “Most of my family is… was from France, I believe.” 

“Was...? Like _was_ and now- Oh...” Weasley frowned and scratched his chin in thought. “Alright… _Alright_ , so I’m Ron, Ron Weasley,” he walked over and held out his hand.

Draco was dumbfounded for a moment then shook Weasley’s hand. He had a tight grip. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m- I’m Draco.”

“If you’re dead set on Diagon I can rent you the place above the shop,” Weasley said.

“Pardon?” Draco blinked.

“It’s a bit sparce and the bathroom’s tiny, like small small. There’s no oven, just a cooktop and you’ll have to take your laundry out if you want more than cleaning spells,” Weasley said.

“We- We’ve just met!” Draco said in dismay.

“Yeah, but you seem alright, and you’re in a bit of tight spot,” Weasley said. “It’s not all peaches and cream, I’ll need you to do an unbreakable vow not steal anything from the shop, and if someone broke in, I’d need you to call the Aurors, that sort of thing. Oh, and the only way into the flat is through the front door so after we lock up, you’ll only be able to use the floo. But there is one, a floo, so it’s not the worst.”

“How- How much? For a month,” Draco grimaced, “or maybe longer...”

“Say a hundred galleons?” Weasley said.

Draco nodded automatically, no matter how small the flat was, it was an absurdly good deal. Money was exchanged, contracts signed, and Weasley gave him a perfunctory tour of the building.

The first two floors were the shop floor with its strange exciting products, the displays moving, sometimes glowing, whistling or shooting sparks of light into the air. The third floor was a workshop, shelves filled with products and the ingredients of products to be. Desks were lined with cauldrons that stirred themselves, filled with pink, yellow and other brightly coloured concoctions. And the final, narrow staircase led up to a small attic flat.

Right at the top of the stair was a door leading into the smallest bathroom Draco had ever seen. It was a closet that happened to have a sink then a toilet, with hardly enough room to stand in front of either one, then a small shower stall at the end. The flat itself had a tiny kitchenette along the wall, a small fridge and range top with one piece of counter between them. There was an old metal bed frame by the window with a thin bare mattress on it and a small table with one chair. There wasn’t anything else. There wasn’t room for anything else.

“Sorry. I told you it was shit. George used up all the extension space on the shop. If we tried to push for more room it might all pop,” Weasley said.

“No, No this is, fine, perfect even. I just needed a chance to get back on my feet,” Draco said.

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t tried living here yet,” Weasley joked, “Oh and tomorrow George may give you a hard time, seeing as I didn’t ask him first.”

“Will it be a problem?” Draco asked apprehensively.

“For me, yeah, but you already signed a contract for a month, I can’t break that any more than you can pilfer the merchandise. As long as you don’t cause trouble, George’ll be happy to let you stay on as long as you like,” Weasley said.

“Okay. Thank you, again,” Draco said.

“Sure thing,” Weasley said, “I, uh, I was locking up. The floo is on the third floor if you need to leave, call ‘Wheezes Potioneering Wonders’ to get back. I didn’t pick the address. Just close it up if you use it.”

Draco gave Weasley a nod, and he headed back down the stairs leaving Draco alone in the small room.

There was one thing the room had in its favour, across from the stairs was a window nearly as big as the wall. It was in the shape of a half-circle. There was a small circle in the centre with triangular pieces around the outside, so it looked like a rising sun.

Draco unfastened his cloak and dropped it over the back of the chair. The wide unfinished wood floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked over to the window and looked down at the street. The buildings were closed and dark. Only a few people wandered through the pools of lamplight below, colouring them and the cobbled street in a yellow glow. He leaned against the cold glass and closed his eyes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco woke as the sun rose over the buildings and streamed through the large window. He lay in the cold dawn light, his cloak wrapped around him like a blanket until he started to hear noise rising up from the street below and slowly pushed himself up, the bedsprings creaking and groaning under him.

Draco wanted to take a shower but had no towels or change of clothes. He was going to need sheets for the bed or a blanket at least. And since he had no idea how to make anything outside of a cup of tea, he would have to eat out most of the time. All of it would cost money. Money which he would quickly run out of. He had to get a job.

He settled for splashing water on his face and smoothing his hair down with damp hands. He cast a cleaning charm over his clothes and managed a passable ironing charm to remove the wrinkles, though he’d never cast it himself, only seen it done.

As Draco came down the narrow stairs, he heard shouting from below, growing clearer as he got closer.

“I can’t believe you! You let a random bloke you’ve never seen before just live here?”

“Yeah, well, he was in a tough spot, and I thought-” Weasley said.

“That doesn’t make it better, Ron! That makes it worse, Ron!” George Weasley shouted. Draco hardly remembered him from school except that he and his twin brother were pranksters who delighted in causing as much trouble as possible.

“He had the money, and he signed a contract, a proper one that says he won’t steal or break anything,” Weasley said.

“Yeah?” George said sarcastically, “And what about snooping? You know how many things we make that Zonko’s would kill to get their hands on?”

“I think-” Draco interrupted carefully, “-stealing intellectual property is still stealing.”

“Ha! See!” Weasley said triumphantly.

Draco walked around the displays to the front of the store. The two red-headed siblings were standing right inside the door, glaring at one another.

George sighed and looked Draco over critically.

Draco stood a little straighter under the scrutiny and, remembering that George Weasley didn’t know him, tried to put on a friendly smile, though he didn’t have much practise at it.

George snorted at his awkward expression and grinned, holding out a hand, “You seem alright.”

“See. I’m a good judge of character,” Weasley said.

George rolled his eyes, “There’s a first time for everything.”

Draco went to shake his hand but mostly was the one that had his hand shaken vigorously.

“George Weasley, this is my shop,” George said.

“Hey!” Weasley protested.

“And my little brother Ron helps out,” George said.

“I’m Draco,” Draco said.

“Draco, huh? You got a last name?” George asked.

Draco hesitated, admitting to his last name wouldn’t help. Even if they thought him a distant relation of the Malfoys, they might be less likely to trust him.

“What? Were you really obliviated?” Weasley asked.

“No, no I _know_ , I just… lost it,” Draco said weakly, cursing himself for not thinking faster and making something up

“Lost?” Weasley frowned.

“ _Oh_. You were disowned? Like proper disowned?” George asked.

Draco nodded, grateful for the excuse.

George sighed at Weasley’s confused looked, “He had his last name stripped off. I knew another bloke it happened to, he was gay, and his parents were homophobic pricks who didn’t want him carrying the family name. You can’t inherit _anything_ after it happens, not even a knut.”

“George, you could try not being such an arse. He’s right here,” Weasley said.

George held up his hands, “Sorry, mate. It explains a lot though, sorry I didn’t trust you at first.”

Draco nodded, “It’s fine. Your response is very reasonable. Wea- Ron’s was the unusual one.”

“Hey!” Ron said.

“I do appreciate it,” Draco said.

“Well, alright then,” Ron said mollified.

George tossed a ring of keys in his hand, “I’m pretty sure you need to go to the Ministry to register a new name; otherwise, you don’t really exist anymore.”

Draco stared at him, feeling cold.

“I meant legally!” George said, gently cuffing him on the shoulder, “Relax, mate.”

“R-right,” Draco said faintly.

“I’m gonna start opening up!” George called, heading to the till.

Draco nodded and silently went out. He had thought to start looking for work… somewhere, but George was right, he’d need an identity of some sort. Being a ghost wouldn’t work for long.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


After a quick breakfast of the cheapest most filling thing at the pub, he went to the Ministry and spent the day waiting on hard chairs and filling out paperwork, speaking with a man in black robes and yet more waiting.

He had to take veritaserum in the final interview, but he had been given it before. Even before his trials, Professor Snape had given him doses and drilled him on how to answer evasively, giving the potion an answer it was happy with without saying everything.

“What’s your name?”

“Draco,” Draco said.

The witch on the other side of the table was chewing gum, snapping it between her teeth.

“What’s your last name?” she asked.

“I don’t have one anymore,” Draco said truthfully. If it came down to it, he technically didn’t have a first name either.

“What happened to your last name?” The black ministry clerk robes didn’t suit her. She looked like she was in her thirties, but her bright green hair and silvery eyeshadow spoke of someone much younger at heart.

“I lost it,” Draco ask shortly. He felt the veritaserum pressing for more and added, “It was taken from me. Everything was taken from me.”

She smiled sympathetically. Her name was Leona. “Where do you live?”

“I’ve rented a flat on the fourth floor of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes,” Draco said.

“Do you plan to stay there long?” Leona asked.

“A few months,” Draco said.

Leona blew a small bubble, snapping her gum as she pulled it back in her mouth, “And where will you stay after that?”

“Somewhere with an oven and more than one room,” Draco tried for a joke, which made Leona smile faintly, but the veritaserum pressed for more, “A nicer place but still in the UK.”

“Do you plan to stay in the country?” Leona asked.

Draco nodded, “Yes. I am going to stay in the country.”

“Do you have employment?” Leona asked.

“No,” Draco said.

Leona wrote a few notes on the clipboard in front of herself, “Do you plan to acquire employment or do you have funds or other support in which support yourself?”

“I’m going to look for work, but I have enough in savings for… two months if I’m careful,” Draco said grimly, unhappy with the answer that had come from his own mouth. It seemed such a small amount of time, such a narrow ledge.

Leona filled out more of the form, “Well, Draco, your situation is rare but not unheard of. Especially after the war, there were a lot of people disinherited, some even did it to themselves.”

Draco said nothing, not wanting to give the veritaserum an outlet to say something he shouldn’t.

“First off, the fun part,” Leona flashed him a smile, “You get to pick a new last name. Feel free to think about it for a bit while I finish your paperwork.”

Draco blinked, looking down at his hands. It wasn’t important, he didn’t need to think too hard about it. He just had to pick an innocuous name to wear until he could reverse the curse he had laid on himself. Yet, the thought of not being a Malfoy… it hurt. And he felt guilty at that pain. The name Malfoy had become a ball and chain, nothing but a burden to him. But it was still his. His family. His legacy…

“Draco? Draco? Have you thought of something?” Leona asked. She looked at his expression, strained with grief and suggested, “I always advise picking something that makes you happy. If you like flowers, Poppy or Rose could be a nice last name… if you’d rather something a bit more masculine, Sage or Heather. Smith is an easy one if you want something uncomplicated, or Jones. They’re both very common.”

Draco took a deep breath, “...Perdue.”

“Per-due?” Leona repeated.

“It’s french,” Draco said.

“What does it mean?” Leona asked.

Draco grit his teeth. The veritaserum was weakening, but it would hurt to fight it, “It means lost. It’s what I am... Âme perdue, lost soul.”

“Are you sure?” Leona asked, concern radiating in her voice.

It was only temporary. Draco swallowed the knot in his throat and nodded, “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Leona said, “How do you want to spell it?”

He spelt it out for her and signed the papers to register the new name and was given pamphlets for the various Ministry programs, food and employment and other things he might need. Then he had to go retake his apparition licencing, which took just as long.

The winter sky already dark and bitterly cold when he finished. He had another bland filling meal and went back to the shop, curling up under his robe for another night of fitful sleep.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  


He woke early again and glared at the sun shining through the large window. The shop was already getting ready to open as he came downstairs, employees he had never met were stocking shelves and arranging displays.

George, when Draco spotted him, had his arms loaded with crates stacked well above his head that wobbled as he walked. “Ron!” He dropped the boxes in front of an empty table, “Brother dearest, where the fuck are you?!”

“Working? What do you think I’m doing?” Ron called from the second floor.

“Well, you should be halfway to Gringott’s unless you expect every customer to pay with exact change!” George shouted.

Ron came around the bannister, “Since when? You always do the Gringott’s run!”

“Gotta set up this dung bomb display,” George said. He waggled his eyebrows, “Wanna trade?”

“Nah,” Ron said, skipping down the stairs, “Anyone free to go to the bank?”

No one answered him.

George frowned looking around, “Killian could- no she’s watching cauldrons. Penelope is- no she’s busy… Thomas could be spared maybe?”

“Draco!” Ron waved, “Be a mate and walk with me to Gringott’s, it’ll only be ten minutes.”

“Ron. He doesn’t work for us you can’t ask him-”

“It’s fine.” Draco said, “I wanted to ask you something anyway.”

“See! It’s fine!” Ron said, hurrying outside before George could stop him.

Draco hurried to join Ron.

“Thanks,” Ron said, “We’re a bit swamped right now restocking after the holidays.”

Draco nodded.

“So what did you want to ask?”

Draco glanced over at him, “I just wanted to know when you locked up for the night.”

“The shop closes at eight. We don’t really hang around long after that, do most of the cleaning and paperwork in the morning,” Ron said.

“Okay, thank you,” Draco said.

“That’s it?” Ron asked, raising a good-natured eyebrow.

Draco nodded.

“You could have got that from the hours posted on the door, you know,” Ron said.

Draco winced, “Oh. Sorry to bother you.”

“No mate, it’s fine. You can ask more is all.” Ron said, “I told George he should get you a key so you can come and go whenever, but he wants to wait a while to make sure you aren’t barmey.”

“That’s probably wise,” Draco said.

Ron sighed, his breath coming out in a cloud, “No, it’s stingy. You’d think he’d remember what it was like having nothing. He and Fred were only able to open the shop because Harry gave them the money. With no strings and no questions.”

Draco tucked his chin down into the folds of his cloak, thinking that this must be what it was like to be friends with Ron Weasley. It was no wonder Potter had chosen Ron over and over again.

“Did you get the new name?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Draco said and added hesitantly, “It took all day.”

“The Ministry never does anything by half, and everything they do requires a mountain of paperwork,” Ron said, shaking his head.

Draco smiled faintly, “I planned to look for a job today, though I have no qualifications.”

“That’s alright. Lots of people our age never got NEWT’s, you don’t have to tell them you weren’t in the war. They’ll probably give you a shot.”

Draco hunched his shoulders, dropping further into himself.

“And if not, you can always take the NEWT’s in the summer. Most jobs only really look for one or two if any,” Ron said.

“Right,” Draco said quietly.

“It’ll be alright. You’re fit enough and have a posh voice, that’ll get you farther than you’d think. And if that doesn’t work out for you, I’m sure we can get you some part-time work in the shop.” Ron said.

Draco smiled faintly.

Ron saw his expression and grinned back, nudging Draco with his elbow. They went into the bank, and Draco waited in the lobby while Ron talked with the goblins. When Ron came out the money for the till was already hidden away out of sight.

“I’ve thought of another question for you, if you don’t mind,” Draco said.

“Don’t mind at all,” Ron said.

Draco looked down at the cobblestones as they walked, choking down his pride to ask, “I need to buy...everything, and I don’t really know where to go to- to not spend all my savings.”

Ron nodded, “Yeah, yeah. No, muggle shops are the way to go. They have cheaper stuff and more stuff and good second-hand shops.”

“Okay,” Draco said, unwilling to admit that the idea of going into a muggle shop terrified him, “Thank you for the advice.”

“You don’t have to thank me all the time,” Ron said.

Draco shrugged, “You were the first person to be kind to me after… everything, I’d rather be overly polite than risk upsetting you.”

“You’re alright, mate. You don’t have to worry so much,” Ron said. They paused in front of the shop and Ron gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder, “See you later. Good luck with the job hunt.”

Draco nodded goodbye, his feet stuck to the ground for a second before pushing himself to move. After getting breakfast he went to the closest apothecary.

But they weren’t hiring. Draco went to the smaller apothecary on Diagon that mostly did owl order had just hired on a new brewer. The last apothecary he knew of was in Hogsmeade, Pippin’s Potions.

It was bigger than the shops in Diagon and nearly empty in the middle of the day with school in session.

“Can I help you, sir?” the man at the counter asked.

“Are you hiring?” Draco asked, “I’m good at brewing-”

The man waved a hand to stop him before he could go on, “No, No. I have two good brewers. I don’t need another.”

“I see,” Draco ducked his head, “Thank you, I’ll-”

“Wait, don’t run away, lad. I’ve heard St. Mungo’s needs someone to brew for them. If you’re any good, go ask them.”

A knot of dread caught in Draco’s throat, he had applied to work at St. Mungo’s after his trials, but even with his Outstanding NEWT in Potions they turned him away. He had sought a Mastership in Potions, but no one would agree to take him on as an apprentice. He would have had to move to another continent to find someone who didn’t know his name, and he hadn’t been willing to leave his mother behind.

But he had nothing to lose by trying again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco thanked the man at the counter and apparated to the hospital, approaching the front desk with trepidation.

“Emergency?” The front desk wizard asked, his name tag read Uri.

“No-”

Uri slapped a clipboard on the desk, it had about twenty forms on it, “Fill this out. Once you’re done, bring it back to me, and we’ll see you as soon as we can.”

“I’m not here for treatment,” Draco said.

Uri raised an eyebrow, “Then why are you wasting my time?”

Draco blinked, impressed despite himself, “I heard you’re hiring potion brewers.”

Uri grabbed a speaking tube hanging from the wall and tapped it with his wand before speaking into it, “Flo, brewing applicant at the desk.”

Draco thought he heard someone shout, “ _Finally_!” before Uri hung the tube back on its hook.

“Flo will be right with you, please wait over here,” Uri said, pointing to a seat near the desk. He smiled briefly and utterly falsely before turning to the next person in line who did get the clipboard and pile of forms.

Draco was too nervous to sit, standing in front of the chair until a harried older woman showed up, Uri pointing her over to Draco.

“Florence Waters, head of Administration, you can brew potions?” Florence said as soon as she was close enough to be heard. She had short curly hair and glasses perched on the end of her nose that looked like they were from the fifties.

Draco nodded, “Yes-”

“Even if you can’t, at this point I’ll take anyone who wants to learn,” Florence said and waved impatiently for him to follow her, “This way, this way. I’d hire you on the spot, but technically Hubert has to give the okay as the head of the Potion Department,” she sighed heavily at this.

They walked deeper into the hospital, past busy spell wards and loud maternity rooms, the noise dropping and the hallways becoming less and less crowded as they went. Until they reached a long stretch of empty hallway where the sharp herbal smell of Hubert’s lab announced itself long before they came to the open door.

Florence knocked on the door frame, sticking her head inside and calling, “Hubert! I found you an assistant!”

Hubert was a thin man but tilted to the side like a he was perpetually off-balance. His brown hair streaked was with grey and was thinning on top. Hubert had been very carefully combed long strands of his hair over the bald patch. It somehow was the perfect compliment to his bristly moustache that entirely hid his upper lip.

“I don’t need an assistant!” Hubert snapped back.

Florence looked around the lab, which was in a state of utter chaos, with piles of paperwork and jars of ingredients covering every surface and only one of the three large cauldrons bubbling with something inside. She gestured to the whole room with both hands, gave Hubert a stern look and then put her hands on her hips.

“I manage just fine!” Hubert said, moving one listing stack of paper onto another and clearing a single square of space.

“You _manage_ until there’s an emergency and you lose a day to brewing something for a patient and then never make it up!” Florence said.

“I will make it up, eventually,” Hubert said stubbornly.

“Hire him,” Florence said, pointing at Draco.

“Pah, probably useless just like all the others you’ve brought,” Hubert said.

Florence threw up her hands, “I. Don’t. _Care_! Hubert! Even if he can’t brew he can clean this mess, help organise! Something!”

“You think you can brew, boy?” Hubert asked.

“Yes,” Draco said.

“Brew if peoples lives depend on it?” Hubert pressed.

“No-”

“Hah!” Hubert laughed.

“-because as your junior I wouldn’t be in charge of brewing anything of that level,” Draco finished.

Florence crossed her arms over her chest, looking smug.

“At least, not without being thoroughly vetted and tested,” Draco said, “The reason I wanted to work here was because it’s where the most important brewing work is done in this country.” he tried not to look around the lab with disappointment.

Hubert caught his mood anyway, a frown pulling his moustache down. He picked up a jar seemingly at random from a crowded workbench, “What’s this?”

Draco took it, peering at the crushed plants inside, “Belladonna, leaves and stems.”

Hubert grabbed the jar and pushed a different jar of green powder in his hands, “And this?”

“May I open it?” Draco asked.

Hubert nodded, and Draco pulled off the stopper and sniffed, “Powdered chinese chomping cabbage but from the pale colour I would wager its the ones grown in the south of Italy, they’re never as potent as the imported ones from South America.”

Hubert’s frown faded, and he looked around himself, finding a larger jar of something dark and liquid, “Here.”

Draco didn’t bother peering through the murky liquid, a lot of animal parts preserved in alcohol looked much like this after a few months. He cracked the lid and caught the faintest of smells, quickly screwing it back on as he tried not to gag, “….Dragon liver but I think it’s gone off. I wouldn’t try brewing with it.”

Hubert tried sniffing it himself, coughed hoarsely and quickly vanished the jar and its contents.

“Do you have any idea how much dragon liver costs!” Florence said in dismay.

“Need it for burn cures and-”

“Hubert! The young man obviously knows how to make a potion! So just-”

“ _No_ ,” Hubert said stubbornly, “He knows about potion _ingredients_.”

Florence sighed.

“But... it’s a good start,” Hubert said, “I’ll take him on. He _might_ have some potential, I suppose.”

“ _Thank you!_ ” Florence said with utter relief. “Well, let’s get the hiring paperwork done, Mr-”

“Draco,” Draco said.

“When can you start?” Hubert asked.

“Tomorrow?” Draco said.

“Eight sharp, you can start by cleaning,” Hubert said.

Draco nodded and followed Florence back to her office to fill out yet more paperwork.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Two hours later, Draco finally made his way back out to the front waiting room. The lights were dimmer in Florence’s small office, and he found himself wincing and blinking in the large bright room.

“Draco? Draco! Hey, uh-”

Draco turned and found Potter. His auror uniform had a large gash on the arm through which blood had seeped into the fabric and was starting to stain a sling supporting his injured arm.

“You’re bleeding,” Draco said.

“Not much,” Potter said.

“Mr Potter,” a mediwitch followed on his heels with a stern frown, “We need to remove the curse so we can heal your shoulder.”

“It’s nearly stopped,” Potter added, ignoring the mediwitch and trying to hide a wince of pain.

“You should get treated,” Draco said.

“No. I mean, I will. Look I tried to owl you but the owl just, didn’t fly? Like it didn’t know how to find you?” Potter said.

“Oh,” Draco said, a little mystified that even the owls had lost their memory of him. He wondered if they would be able to find him now that he was on the Ministry registers again. “I just moved here.”

“Weird though isn’t it? I thought all mail owls were enchanted to be able to find anyone,” Potter said.

“Mr Potter, _please_ , we need to heal your injury,” The mediwitch said impatiently.

“I had to fill in some paperwork with the Ministry, it should be fine now,” Draco said evasively. The mediwitch was calling over some other healers to help, “It looks like you’re going to be stunned and treated whether you like it or not.”

Potter spun to the mediwitch, “I just need a _minute_ , please?”

Draco felt a little dismayed, but Potter had been this insistent before as well. “Will it take long to heal him?” he asked the mediwitch.

“Half an hour at most, if he would just _come_ -” She said.

“Just give me a minute-!” Potter said.

“I’ll wait,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter spun back around to him.

“I’ll wait for you. So go get your arm fixed and quit harassing the staff,” Draco said.

“Promise?” Potter asked.

Draco rolled his eyes, “Yes, fine. I promise.”

He watched the healers corral Potter into an exam room and then decided to try and find the cafeteria. He waited in line and got two styrofoam cups of hot water, putting teabags in and then adding a touch of sugar and just a splash of milk to both.

When he got back the waiting room, Potter had already been released and was looking around, a distraught expression on his face.

“Potter,” Draco called, catching his attention.

“You’re _here_ ,” Potter said and smiled like Draco had given him a gift.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Draco said, offering a cup, “I went to get tea.”

Potter took the cup and tried to take a sip even though it was still far too hot and burned his tongue.

Draco smiled faintly, “The tea isn’t going anywhere.”

Potter grinned, “Yeah. I’m too impatient.”

Draco would have said, ‘just like always’ but there was no always, not for Potter.

“Do you wanna take a walk or go somewhere?” Potter asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “You do realise your uniform is currently covered in blood, right?”

Potter looked down at himself, “Oh, right… err...”

Draco snorted in amusement.

Potter smiled sheepishly, “So what were you doing here? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Unlike some people, no,” Draco said, pleased to prompt a laugh from Potter. “I was applying for a job.”

Potter blinked, “You’re a healer?”

“Not quite that impressive. I’m going to be a potion brewer,” Draco said.

“That sounds even more impressive to me, I was always pants at potions,” Potter said.

There were yet more things Draco wanted to say, to tease him for blowing up cauldrons, for not always being bad at them in sixth year… Draco grimaced at the memory and raised his cup taking a sip of tea.

“Congrats on getting the job,” Potter said.

“Thank you,” Draco said.

Potter looked down at his cup, shifting his weight nervously, “So, uh… what do you say about going out for a drink to celebrate?”

“Me getting the job or you not bleeding to death?” Draco asked.

Potter laughed. “Both? I have the rest of the day off.”

“Don’t you have reports to write?” Draco asked.

“Tomorrow,” Potter said, “We always get the rest of the day off after getting injured.”

Draco hesitated, “Well... I need to go shopping.”

“Oh,” Potter’s face fell.

“Because I’ve just moved,” Draco said, “I need, _everything_...”

“Oh, yeah…” Potter said weakly, “Makes sense.”

Draco frowned in confusion as he studied Potter’s expression. “Would you like to come?” he didn’t know why he offered. Perhaps pity, perhaps simply for the novelty of having Potter’s attention.

Potter blinked, “You wouldn’t mind?”

Draco shook his head, “I can’t imagine why you would want to, but no, I wouldn’t mind.”

Potter grinned, “Alright, yeah, yeah, I’d love to come- to help, to- to, uh, chat...” he ducked his head, looking embarrassed.

“Smooth,” Draco said.

Potter laughed awkwardly.

“Well, you need to change into something not covered in your own blood. And I need to stop by the bank. Shall we meet outside the Leaky in an hour?” Draco suggested.

Potter nodded, “Yeah! Sounds great! I’ll see you there.”

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Draco went back to Gringotts and changed out fifty galleons for muggle money, and got five slips of paper money that seemed far too easy to lose. He hoped it would be enough. He was nervous about taking out any more money until he was certain the job would work out and, hopefully, pay enough to live off of.

Draco headed towards the pub. It was far too early, but he didn’t have to wait as Potter was already leaning against the wall outside. He had glamoured himself, with smooth brown hair and blue eyes and no glasses to be seen. It was subtle but changed enough that no one gave him a second look.

“You’re early,” Draco said.

Potter looked up in surprise, “Did my glamour wear off?” He turned to catch his reflection in the window, “How did you know it was me?”

“Everything else is still the same,” Draco said.

Potter looked down at himself, he had swapped his uniform out for jeans and a plain black peacoat, a scarf in Gryffindor red and gold wrapped around his neck.

“I meant… your posture, your body-figure under-” Draco sighed, “I could just tell, alright?”

“Yeah?” Potter grinned, “Alright. Where to?”

“Uh… that is I- I could actually use some advice about that,” Draco said, “I was told that the best way to save money would be to buy from muggle shops, but I’m afraid I don’t know one from another.”

Potter nodded, “What do you need to get? Besides everything.”

Draco smiled faintly, “Towels, sheets, shampoo and other toiletries, those sorts of things.”

“That sounds like a trip to Asda then,” Potter held out his hand, “I’ll side-along us to somewhere close.”

Draco hesitated and then took Potter’s hand. It was warm and calloused in Draco’s own. He held on tight as Potter closed his eyes in concentration, and they disappeared in a twisting spinning snap of air. Reappearing between a brick wall and a dumpster.

“Where are we?” Draco asked.

“Behind the Asda, and a bunch of other shops, it’s a strip mall,” Potter said, “Before we walk around you should probably transfigure your robes. They’ll stand out too much otherwise.”

Draco looked down at himself, robe, waistcoat, dress shirt, black slacks, shiny black shoes, “It’s all I have.”

“If you turn it into a coat you won’t get cold,” Potter said.

Draco just couldn’t bring himself to do it, “Can you do it? Something like what you’re wearing.”

Potter shrugged, “I’ll do my best.” He drew his wand and Draco closed his eyes.

“All done,” Potter said.

Draco dared to look and found Potter had managed a quite nice peacoat in a soft grey, “Thank you.”

They walked past the dumpsters to the rows of shops on the front. Potter weaved around the muggles effortlessly while Draco found himself staring around himself and nearly running into people and their wheeled baskets.

A few shops down was the one with the sign Asda, but it was the shop beside it that made Draco stop.

“What’s Poundland?” Draco asked.

Potter sighed, “Things that cost a pound, usually, sometimes there are things that are two or three pounds but-”

“Then shouldn’t we shop there?” Draco asked.

“I mean, for the smaller stuff,” Potter said, “It’s great for snacks and cheap food. But the other stuff- it isn’t great quality.”

“So? I can improve that myself,” Draco said, waving a finger like a wand.

Potter nodded, “True. Let’s go in then.”

The door slid open as they approached, an act of machines rather than sorcery, Potter explained. In inside was an overwhelming array of shelves filled with bright packages, none of which Draco recognised.

Potter picked out some biscuits for him at Draco’s request, a mystifying mix of things called Jaffa cakes, Digestives and Lotus that he promised were good. They got tea, sugar and milk as well.

“What about eggs and bread? For like breakfast?” Potter said.

“I don’t- I’ve never really cooked,” Draco said, feeling embarrassed.

“Anyone can manage breakfast. I’m sure you can. Some toast, eggs, a little bacon, they have tins of beans if you like them,” Potter said.

Draco frowned.

Potter put eggs and butter in the basket, “I’ll show you how, after we’ve shopped. We can have breakfast for lunch.”

“Okay...” Draco saw that there was chocolate milk, and impulsively added it to the basket.

Potter grinned, “Try the strawberry too.”

Draco added a small bottle decorated with strawberries, “Is- the basket must be heavy.”

“It’s fine-”

“I’ll get another,” Draco said, hurrying back to the front of the store.

When he rejoined Potter with a basket of his own, they went down the other aisles, and Draco picked out two mugs, one with strawberries on it, and one with rainbow polka-dots. He would have bought a frying pan as well, but Potter insisted on getting a better one from the Asda.

“It’s worth it,” Potter promised.

He bought a few more small things he thought he might need. At one pound it seemed like it couldn’t cost much, but the many small items added up, turning a fifty paper note into a smaller bill and a confusing amount of coins.

The Asda took more of his money, but he was able to get all the things he wanted to finally live a bit more comfortably. Potter chatted the whole time, occasionally shooting Draco a smile that felt utterly baffling. But Draco found himself returning it most of the time, if a bit hesitantly. Potter was scarily easy to talk to without all their mutual history and baggage hanging between them.

They carried the many bags back around the back of the building, shrinking them down before Potter apparated them back to Diagon Alley right where they had left.

Potter kept his head ducked and turned toward the wall as soon as they landed, trying to avoid being recognised.

“Come on, we can floo to my place,” Draco said.

“What?” Potter looked up, “You really want me to come over-?”

“You said you’d teach me,” Draco said, “I wouldn’t have bought half that food if-”

“No, I will,” Potter said hurriedly, “I just didn’t want to push. I kind of just took it for granted that you’d be okay with it when we were in the shop.”

“I would have said if I wasn’t,” Draco said. “I’m not the type to lie to make someone feel better. Unless there’s something in it for me.”

Potter laughed, “That’s a very Slytherin answer.”

Draco shrugged and headed into the Leaky, tossing the barkeep a few knuts for a pinch of floo powder, “Call Wheezes Potioneering Wonders,” he told Potter.

“What?” Potter stopped in his tracks, floo powder leaking from between his fingers.

“Wheezes Potioneering Wonders,” Draco said more slowly.

“I- I heard, but you’re staying _there_?” Potter asked.

“Is there something wrong with where I’m staying?” Draco asked, playing dumb.

Potter shook his head, “No, it’s- I’ll tell you later,” he nodded to floo.

Draco flooed through, stepping into the workshop and nodding to the employee watching the cauldrons. Potter stepped out behind him a few seconds later, coughing from ash and floo powder.

“Up here,” Draco said, heading up the stairs to the small room.

Potter looked around curiously as he stepped off the stairs, “I didn’t know there was a room up here. It’s tiny.”

“It’s all I can afford right now,” Draco said, peeling off his coat and dropping it over the chair.

Potter winced, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I got a job after all,” Draco said.

“You don’t have a sink,” Potter said, setting his coat on the end of the bed. He had a cream jumper under the plain peacoat, one of the nicest Draco had ever seen him in.

“There’s a sink in the bathroom.”

“What about dirty dishes?” Potter asked.

“Cleaning charms?”

“Oh, right,” Potter said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Because we’re wizards,” Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes.

“Who can do magic,” Draco added.

Potter knocked his shoulder, “Oh, shut it.” He fished out Draco’s bags from his pockets, resizing them and setting them on the bare mattress, the table was far too small to hold much.

Potter found the new frying pan, while Draco set the food on the table.

“Now what?” Draco asked.

“Well… I don’t need to teach you things you already know so, how much do you know?” Potter asked.

Draco shook his head, “As I said, I’ve never cooked.”

Potter furrowed his brow.

“I had a… very sheltered upbringing,” Draco said.

“Can you boil water?” Potter asked.

Draco frowned at him, “Of course I can. I’ve brought potions to boil.”

“That’s a start,” Harry said. “Let’s make some tea then.”

Draco filled his new kettle with water and set it on the stovetop, fiddling with the stove until it turned on.

Potter put the frying pan on the burner next to Draco and flipped it on, “How do you like your eggs?”

“Sunnyside up, on toast,” Draco said.

“Do you smear the yolk over the bread first?” Potter asked.

“Of course.”

Potter laughed, “Somehow I knew you were going to say that.” he added butter to the pan, and it melted slowly across the metal.

“And you?” Draco asked, “How do you like your eggs?”

Potter shrugged, “Every way really. I’m more interested in bacon most of the time. You don’t want to let the pan get too hot, it can warp the metal and then it sucks to cook on. I don’t turn the heat past half unless I’m boiling something.”

Draco nodded, “That make sense, the additional liquid would help transpose the heat more evenly.”

Potter grinned, “That’s a potion brewer for you. Eggs?”

Draco handed him one.

“I’ll crack one,” Potter said, tapping the egg on the edge of the pan, “You can do the other.” he poured the egg into the pan where it began to crackle and hiss softly as the whites started to set.

Potter stepped over a little so Draco could be in front of the pan. He timidly tapped the egg.

“A little harder,” Potter said, leaning against his arm, “Be careful not to nick the yolk on the edge of the shell when you put it in the pan.”

Draco bit his lip, almost too aware of Potter to focus. He tapped the egg harder, felt it crack against the metal and tried to get it into the pan the same way Potter had but made a mess of it somehow, with egg whites on his fingers and fragments of shell in the pan.

Draco sighed.

“You didn’t break the yolk,” Potter said, spelling Draco’s hands clean.

“Yes, but-”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like, it’s still going to taste good, right?” Potter said. He used the butter knife to pull out the fragments of shell. “I know a charm to toast the bread, but it’s tricky not to accidentally burn it.”

“Show me,” Draco said.

Potter’s toast did end up a little dark, and Draco’s was far too pale for his taste, but the butter melted onto it just fine.

Potter easily picked up one egg with the spatula, sliding it on to his toast then handed it to Draco.

“Can’t you just-”

Potter shook his head, “This is the hardest part. You want to slide it under the edges of the egg, once you’re sure it’s not sticking, then push the spatula under in one smooth movement without breaking the yolk. If you don’t get it enough of it on the spatula. it’ll fall off when you lift it.”

“No pressure then,” Draco said sarcastically.

“It’s an egg. You can always make another,” Potter said.

Draco took a deep breath, ignoring Potter’s amusement, and began working the edges of the egg, getting a feel for it-

“You can just-”

“Shut up,” Draco muttered.

Potter snorted.

Draco took another deep breath and pushed the spatula under the egg, lifting it up- as a shrill whistle pierced the air, startling him and making the egg fall, fold over itself and began to leak yolk into the pan, “Oh- oh-!”

In one fluid movement, Potter used one hand to move the kettle off the burner, the other covered Draco’s hand on the spatula and picked up the egg, and then the hand that had been moving the kettle picked up the plate with Draco’s toast, lifting the egg over it and letting the yolk run over the bread before setting the egg onto the toast.

“My hero,” Draco said sarcastically. Adding, “Thank you.”

“You’ll get it next time,” Potter said.

They filled the mugs with hot water and added tea bags and had tea and egg on toast right where they were standing by the stove.

“You can tell me if I’m being too pushy or assuming too much,” Potter said, “...It’s weird, but I feel so comfortable talking to you, like I already know you.”

Draco stared at Potter, studying him for any sign of recognition or… anything, but saw nothing but Potter’s earnest expression.

“Draco?” Potter said.

Draco looked away, flooded by aching loneliness. He was alone, even with Potter right here, because it wasn’t the Potter who really knew him.

“Did I say something-”

“No- No, it’s fine,” Draco said quickly. “I can’t survive on a piece of toast, so show me how to make something else.”

A pound didn’t buy much bacon, but Draco opened the package and passed it to Potter who put it into the frying pan where it began to hiss and spit.

“You need a cast a light barrier over the pan because the fat…” Potter fumbled for the right words, “jumps? Out of the pan? Like splatters.” he gestured vaguely just as the bacon popped and they were both hit with tiny flecks of burning fat.

Draco leaned back, rubbing the stinging spot on his hand.

“Like that,” Potter said ruefully, casting the barrier spell over the pan.

There was a new dark spot on the collar of Potter’s shirt.

“It’s stained your jumper,” Draco said with a frown.

Potter looked down, “Where?”

“Here,” Draco reached over finger the surprisingly soft knit, “A shame. It’s a nice jumper.”

“I’m sure I can find a spell to clean it,” Potter said, his voice soft.

Potter reached up, putting his hand over Draco’s, holding it in place. He studied Draco’s face, his gaze falling to Draco’s mouth. Draco froze as Potter leaned close, unable to think or move, to process what was even happening.

Potter stopped and pulled back, “I- Sorry. I must have misread things...”

Draco found his breath again. Potter’s hand was warm. He could feel the frantic thrum of Potter’s heart under his hand.

“I made things weird. I- I should probably go,” Potter said, pulling away.

Draco desperately clutched his shirt, “Don’t leave me. Don’t- Don’t go. You don’t have to go...” his voice fell, weak and shaking.

“Are you alright? Draco?” Potter squeezed his hand.

Draco nodded. He didn’t feel anything like okay.

“When I asked you to go out- I thought this was a date,” Potter said.

The bacon popped loudly, and Draco flinched away from the sound.

Potter turned off the stove and pulled Draco away. He shoved the bags on the bed out of the way until they could both sit, Draco still completely unwilling to let go of Potter lest he try to leave again.

“Sorry I tried to kiss you,” Potter said.

Draco shook his head. He wasn’t sorry, by the gods and for all his shame, but he wasn’t sorry. He just couldn’t. Potter didn’t know him anymore and if he remembered he would hate him, _hate him_ a hundred times more than before.

But he couldn’t let go. He knew Potter. He knew him, and Potter wanted to date him and be with him and kiss him and- and… And Draco was afraid to be alone.

“A lot has happened to me, a lot-” Draco’s voice caught in his throat. “...I just need time.”

Potter paused and looked around the small, empty room and nodded, “Yeah. Okay. We can go as slow as you want.”

Draco nodded, his grip loosening, “I want to- to get to know you.”

“Me too.” Potter smiled hesitantly, “You set the pace, alright?”

“Thank you,” Draco said.

They sat there for a while, and Potter filled the silence with a story about the pick-up game of quidditch he had with the Weasley's last Sunday. The story ended with Ginevra Weasley winning the game single-handedly, even with everyone else ganging up to try and beat her.

Draco laughed weakly at that.

“That’s what we get for playing against a pro, I guess,” Potter said ruefully.

Draco smiled.

“Shall we finish the bacon? And then… I could show you how to make scrambled eggs? You don’t really have enough to make anything else.” Potter said.

Draco nodded. Potter talked a bit more carefully than he had before, and they had bacon and scrambled eggs, pouring the little bottle of pink strawberry milk into their empty mugs.   
When

Potter left, it was with a smile and brief squeeze of Draco’s arm. Draco was too worn out by the day to do more than make his bed with dark blue sheets and the duvet he found that was printed with dandelion puffs gently being blown away.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

  
  


Draco woke with his alarm, set early so he could take a shower. Being able to use soap and water, to scrub his skin pink and work shampoo through his hair, it left a relief in its wake that cleaning spells could never quite manage. It felt just a little bit easier to breathe as he stepped out and dried himself off with a fluffy grey towel.

He had two slices of toast with eggs on them for breakfast and only ruined one, though it did taste just fine. The shop was getting ready to open as he came down the stairs. George and Ron were at the two tills, filling them with sickles and knuts for the day.

George waved him over before he could leave.

“Yes? I need to get to work,” Draco said.

Ron grinned, “Congrats on the job! That was quick. Where you working?”

“St Mungos, brewing potions, or helping, at least,” Draco said.

George’s eyes widened, “You brew?” He glared at Ron, “He brews? Do you know what I would give for another competent brewer?”

Ron held up his hands defensively, “I didn’t know!”

George sighed, leaning against the counter, “... _damn_. Well, if ol’Mungo’s doesn’t work out, I’ll hire you on, got that?”

Draco nodded, “Glad to know I’m wanted.”

“Yeah well most of the students out of Hogwarts can’t brew without someone holding their hand the whole time,” George said, “And intuitive brewing is rare as unicorn tears.”

“Ah,” Draco said.

Ron nudged his brother, “The key?”

“Oh, right!” George patted his pockets and pulled out a small envelope, handing it over to Draco, “A key to the door. Ron wouldn’t leave well enough alone ‘til I got one made. It’s charmed so only the first person who touches it can use it so no lending it out.”

“I won’t,” Draco said, opening the envelope. The key was old fashioned heavy iron and grew warm in his hand for a few seconds as the magic took hold. “I appreciate it,” he said, putting the key into his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah,” George said with a grin, “Better hurry to work.”

Draco nodded and picked up his pace to the nearest apparition point.

The hospital’s potion lab was empty of any Huberts when Draco arrived, but he knew what he was meant to be doing. The drifts of paperwork were the worst of the mess but also the least important. He started by scrubbing the tools and cauldrons clean and moving enough paperwork out of the way to clear off one of the long workbenches.

“Hubert! Hubert!” Florence’s voice came down the hallway ahead of her. Her expression turned to resigned disappointment as she stepped into the lab, “Of course he’s not here. Morning, Draco. Nice to see someone's here at a reasonable hour.”

“Good morning, Florence,” Draco said.

“Hubert will be in later, I’m sure,” Florence said. She handed him a list, “Here are our potion store numbers. I’ve circled the three we’re lowest on, pepperup, calming draughts and skele-go. Let Hubert know.”

“I will,” Draco said.

“Thank you! Glad to have you working with us!” Florence called, already out the door and hurrying on to her next appointment.

Draco frowned at the list. He had only ever brewed in single doses, but for the number of potions that were needed, they would obviously be brewing larger numbers. Draco wasn’t sure if he was allowed to brew, and certainly didn’t want to mess up his first day by overstepping his bounds, but he could at least prepare the ingredients.

He found a scale and an old neglected potion book to look up the weights and measures he would need, working out the amounts for brewing twenty doses at once. One entire wall was made up of shelves and drawers for materials. There appeared to have been a system of organisation at one point, but the labels on drawers were mostly missing and usually contained the wrong thing if there was a label. Luckily, Hubert primarily relied on large clear jars for his ingredients which allowed Draco to spot everything he needed. Organising the wall would have to be on his list of things to fix if he ever managed to get enough time.

When Hubert showed up at eleven, Draco had two trays prepared to brew pepperup and calming draught and was working on the third.

“Humph,” Hubert muttered, looking around, “Haven’t done much.”

Draco didn’t bother looking up from crushing scarab beetles, “I scrubbed out the cauldrons and cleaned all the stirring rods and ladles.”

“And that took you three hours, did it?” Hubert asked, pulling off a red knit cap and tossing it and his robes on top of a pile of paperwork that used to be his desk.

“No,” Draco said, sifting the crushed beetles through a fine mesh and returning the larger pieces to the bowl, “Florence came by with a list of potions needed for today, I’ve been preparing the ingredients for them. I didn’t think the papers were a priority.”

Hubert came around the workbench and frowned at the two trays. He pick up the calculations Draco had done and read through them, “This your work?”

Draco stopped what he doing and looked over at Hubert, “Yes, sir.”

Hubert nodded, drawing a finger down the list, “You were one of Severus Snape’s students, weren’t you? And not one of the rubbish ones, one of the ones that actually learned something from him.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, feeling a faint pang of loss remembering his favourite professor.

“What were you Potion NEWT’s?” Hubert asked.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a second, “...I don’t have them, Mr Hubert. I can assure you I will, and I will get and Oustanding.”

“You’ll get a perfect score,” Hubert said.

Draco blinked, “Excuse me?”

“If you’re going to work for me, you’ll get a perfect Potion NEWT,” Hubert said, “They test in June. You can take one hour every workday to work on the potions and study for it. Mungo’s will pay for it. It’s worth it.”

Draco nodded quickly, “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.”

“Hubert is fine,” Hubert sniffed, his moustache bristling, “It’s Draco, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I work five hours a day, five days a week and I’m on emergency call twenty-four-seven. You’ll come in three hours before every day to prepare like this and clean if you’ve got time. As you said, the paperwork isn’t a priority.”

“Just tell me if you need me to do anything,” Draco said.

Hubert nodded, picking up the first tray, “Good. Let’s get to work then.”

Hubert was used to working alone so Draco couldn’t do much to help him brew, but he cleaned the potion vials and stands, filling them and labelling them as Hubert finished the potions. In five hours, they somehow managed to brew all twenty pepper-ups, fourteen anxiety draughts and eleven skele-go.

Draco cleaned the cauldrons again before leaving for the day. He wasn’t used to doing so much work, and he had aches and twinges all over his body as he left.

There was a package on his bed when he got back to the Weasley's shop. An untidy scrawled note for Ron told him that it had arrived at the front desk via owl. Inside the small parcel was a radio and a message from Potter.

_Here’s a little house warming gift, I thought your flat could use some music. It can pick up muggle and wizard stations, so I’m sure you’ll find something you like._

_-Harry_

Draco smiled to himself as he turned it on and that night fell asleep to the sound of soft music playing.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Draco fell into something like a routine with his new job. Going in at eight after making a simple breakfast, preparing the lab and ingredients and slowing cleaning up the storage wall and creating an inventory of what they had and needed to would have to replace soon. The last hour of the day, Hubert would grumble his way through paperwork. And Draco tried to study. He wasn’t sure if he was bothering Hubert or if Hubert thought he was bothering Draco, but he sent Draco to study in Mungo’s research library.

It was in the basement of the building, with dim lighting charms and packed shelves lining narrow walkways. There was everything from introductory textbooks, to books on the most minute corners of healing magic, to papers of research, done here and at hospitals around the world.

A few desks and lamps had been provided for healer trainees who were also expected to study during what little downtime they had. There Draco lost all interest in studying for his potion NEWT, especially since he had already taken it not that long ago before the world forgot him.

More importantly, the library contained everything he could ever want to know about memory charms and curses and how one might go about reversing them. He never really had any particular interest in memory charms before, so he had to start from the beginning, with a copy of his old charms textbook.

Friday came faster than Draco was expecting. During the week he managed to organise the wall of ingredients, deciding to just put everything alphabetically to save time and headaches. Hubert didn’t care one way or another. Given a choice, his preferred system of organisation was chaos. Though he always knew where to find things, even when they were under drifts of paperwork years old.

Ron was at the register when Draco got back to the shop. He worked the morning most days except it seemed Friday, the day Draco had met him on the street.

“Hey! Draco!” Ron called waving him over to the counter.

This late at night there wasn’t much demand for canary creams and dung bombs, but a few people still wandered the shop looking at the different flashy things for sale.

“You get the weekend off?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Draco said.

“Nice. Weekends are our heaviest sales, so me and George always work them,” Ron said.

“When do you get time off?” Draco asked.

Ron shrugged a shoulder, “Monday and Tuesday usually, sometimes its Tuesday and Wednesday but if things get crazy I’ll come in anyway. I hardly get any time off around christmas and when Hogwarts lets out and right before they start up again.”

“Doesn’t that cause problems with-” Draco stopped remembering that Ron hadn’t mentioned Granger to him. He didn’t even know if they were still together. “with… your family?”

“Hermione also works late. She’s my fiance. We’ve been talking a lot about what we’re going to do if we start a family, how we’re going to balance it, but that’s still a ways off,” Ron said.

“That’s… very forward-minded of you,” Draco said.

Ron laughed, “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I just meant that you’re planning for the future,” Draco said, “I feel like I’ve just been doing my best to keep my head above water.”

“Yeah, well you’ve had a hard time of it lately. Sometimes that’s the best you can do,” Ron said.

But it hadn’t been just lately. Draco felt like he’d just been living day to day for years. Ever since he was sixteen and everything fell apart. He didn’t know what it felt like to plan for the future. He had lost his and didn’t know how to make one of his own.

“If this is prying you don’t have to answer but, what happened?” Ron asked. “You seem like such a posh bloke, like you belong in a country estate, not a tiny attic flat.”

Draco hesitated, “Well… my father died a few years ago, and my mother started getting sick And I- I was drinking more than I should.” He looked down at his hands, “One night I got very drunk, and ruined everything. It’s not a very exciting story.”

Ron nodded, taking the hint that Draco didn’t want to go say anything more. “You know, I meet up with some old friends from school on Fridays. You want to come along? It’s at a pub, but you don’t have to drink.”

Draco pointed to himself, “Me? You do remember that you don’t know me very well.”

“Yeah? That’s why I’m inviting you, to get to know you. It’s up to you. I’m gonna go after I lock up at eight,” Ron said.

“Alright. I’ll think about it...” Draco said.

A few customers came up, and Draco went upstairs. He exchanged his coat and button-up shirt for a soft pale blue jumper.

He had gone back to the muggle shopping centre twice since Potter had shown it to him and bought a few things he’d forgotten and some clothes that turned out to be quite nice. He still needed to look up some tailoring spells to get them better fitted, but they weren’t uncomfortable. Draco had even come to like a sweater that was a bit too big, he could pull it down over his hands and keep them warm.

After an hour of trying to read about memory charm theory, Draco gave up and grabbed his coat, heading back downstairs.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

  
  
The store was quiet in the late hour.   
Ron looked up from the magazine he was reading at the counter and grinned when he saw Draco, “Yeah?”

Draco nodded ruefully, “I could use a distraction.”

Ron checked his watch, “Still got a half an hour till I lock up. I can get started on closing up if you watch the counter.” He spun the magazine around so Draco could read it while he headed upstairs.

Draco flipped through the pages. It was a copy of Quidditch Pitch and had ten pages on all the different teams outlook in the coming season. He got weirdly engrossed reading an article about how to set up a fantasy quidditch league with your friends, he’d never heard of it before but liked the idea.

“That fantasy quidditch thing, huh? I was reading that too. Apparently, muggles make fantasy teams for all sorts of sports,” Ron said, leaning over his shoulder.

Draco jumped in surprise and then glared at him.

Ron laughed, “Sorry! Ready to go?”

Draco nodded, following Ron outside into the cold.

“What did you think?” Ron asked, turning the key in the lock.

“About?”

“Fantasy Quidditch,” Ron said, “Think you’d do something like that?”

“It sounds interesting,” Draco said.

Ron nodded, “You in then? If I can get enough people interested, maybe I can set something up.”

Draco shrugged one shoulder, “I suppose so.”

“You could try being a _little_ enthusiastic about it,” Ron said.

Draco smiled faintly, “I’d rather not.”

“Rude,” Ron said.

Draco’s smile grew, “Let’s see you actually get it started first, then I’ll think about it.”

Ron laughed, and gave Draco a friendly thump on the arm, “I will, just you wait and see!”

Ron went into the pub first, heading to the table at the far wall and raising a hand in greeting as cheers met his arrival. He turned to hook an arm around Draco’s neck, towing him forward, “I want you to meet-”

“Draco?” Potter said, looking surprised and pleased all at once.

Ginevra Weasley, sitting next to Potter on the narrow booth bench, sat forward, looking from Potter to Draco. “ _Wait_! Is this him!? Is this the bloke you keep talking about!?” she laughed.

“shut up,” Potter hissed.

“Wait, how do you know Draco?” Ron asked, letting Draco go.

“How do you?” Potter asked right back.

“I rented him the flat on the top floor of the shop. I ought to know him,” Ron said, “You though-”

“I- I ran into him at that new coffee shop,” Potter said.

“Literally,” Draco said, prompting another wheeze of laugher from Ginevra.

“Of course, he did!” Ginevra said, falling against Potter, much to his annoyance.

Granger sighed and stood up, giving Ron a hug and holding out a hand to Draco, “I’m Hermione, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” Draco said, his handshake loose and nervous.

“Ron’s told me a little about you. Congratulations on the new job,” Granger said.

“Thank you-”

Ginevra stood up and slapped her spot in the booth, “Here take my seat.”

“Gin-”

“Shut up, I’m doing you a favour,” Ginevra said, walking over and stealing a chair from another table and spinning it around to sit on it backwards.

Granger and Ron sat on the other side of the table, and Draco sat in the spot vacated by Ginevra, ignoring her smirky grin.

“You don’t have to sit next to me if you don’t want to,” Potter said.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “And miss my chance to sit beside the illustrious Harry Potter? I think not. I might even get an autograph.”

Ginevra laughed.

“You’re out of luck there. Harry quit doing autographs a while back,” Granger said so flatly Draco couldn’t tell if she was taking the piss or not.

“Except for little kids,” Ron said.

“Well, yeah, that would just be mean,” Potter said.

Draco wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the noble sort of thing Potter would do.

“Will Nev show this week?” Ron asked.

Granger shook her head, “Already been here and gone.”

“What? Again? He’s always leaving before I show!” Ron bemoaned.

“He has classes to teach,” Granger said.

“On the weekend?” Ron said.

Potter nodded, “Yup. He’s working on some sort of big project with his seventh years. Talked our ears off about it.”

“Maybe it was best I missed him after all,” Ron joked.

Granger sighed at them, “I thought it was fascinating, and I’m looking forwards to hearing about the results.”

Potter shrugged, “Herbology was never my thing.”

“Hello, hello!” A soft voice called, bringing with it a tray, “I got all the drinks!”

The tray was levitated onto the table revealing behind it Luna Lovegood smiling cheerfully.

“I saw Ron and his friend come in, so I got two more,” Luna said.

Ron frowned at the tray and the different glasses and strangely coloured concoctions, “What are all these?”

“I don’t know.” Luna said, “I asked the barlady to surprise me, and she did. Isn’t it delightful?”

Ginevra grabbed another chair and pulled it up to the table for Luna.

Ron thought for a second and decided, “Sure.” Picking a random drink and taking a sip that made him wince and then cough, “Bloody hell that’s strong.”

“Luna this is Draco, he’s just moved to London recently,” Granger said.

Luna didn’t offer her hand, tilting her head with a perplexed expression as she stared at Draco. “Have we met before?”

“It’s possible,” Draco said evasively.

Luna twirled a loose curl of her hair around her finger, “I have the strongest sense of deja-vu when I look at you.”

“Give me the blue one,” Ginevra said, holding her hand out for a drink.

“Please?” Ron said, sliding the electric blue cocktail to the edge of the table.

Ginevra rolled her eyes, “Please, _mum_ , may I have a drink. Maybe if I’m drunk enough, my brother will seem like less of a twat.”

“Ha Ha,” Ron said flatly, “Hilarious Gin.”

“You know Luna,” Granger said, “bartender is gender-neutral. I’m not sure barlady is even a word.”

“That’s true,” Luna said, picking a drink with a bright red cherry in it and put it in front of Draco before picking a green coloured cocktail for herself, “But she was wearing a pin that said she, her and I thought barlady would be nicer.”

“But what if she prefers bartender over something more gendered?” Granger said.

“Should we ask?” Luna said.

Granger made a face, “I’m not sure that’s appropriate. That’s why I think-”

“We stop talking about it? Because we don’t know her and leave it at that,” Potter said.

Draco picked up the cherry drink and sipped it, it tasted like lemon-lime and grenadine. He couldn’t taste a bite of alcohol in the mix.

Luna gave him a smile.

“I visited Teddy yesterday, looked after him for a few hours so Andromeda could relax,” Potter said, “And she said her sister has started writing her. Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Really? Why?” Granger asked.

Draco froze, his heart starting to pound inside his chest.

“Andromeda said she wanted to reconnect,” Potter said.

“Do you think Narcissa’s planning something?” Ron asked.

“I wonder if she’s lonely,” Luna said, “It must be quite lonely, with no one else in that big house.”

Draco’s hand tightened on the glass.

“I think it’s probably fine. Narcissa saved me in the end, in the forest...” Potter said and then frowned, “for… for some reason...”

Draco stood up, “Excuse me.”

“Leaving?” Ron asked.

“Loo,” Draco said hurriedly, heading around the booth to the narrow hallway leading to a small dimly lit bathroom. He flipped on the tap and splashed cold water on his face, shivering as it soaked into his sleeves. The lighting charms flickered overhead and dropped him back in time like a lead weight. Draco slammed the water off and hurried out, his breath catching painfully in his chest.

He didn’t want to go back to the table. He couldn’t go back into the loo.

Draco made it down the hallway before sinking down against the wall, his knees pulled up to chest. He was close enough to hear the conversation from the table.

“Chips! Let’s order a plate of chips!” Ron was shouting over everyone.

“Order them then,” Granger said, “You can get the next round and some food.”

“I mean, we have to finish Luna’s weird drinks first,” Potter said.

“I’ll finish them,” Ginevra said. “These are the sort I like anyway. You can get your pints, and I’ll actually get proper wasted.”

“Don’t you have practise tomorrow?” Potter asked.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be hellish,” Ginevra said jokingly.

“Practise on a Saturday?” Granger asked.

Luna piped up, “Ginny practises four days of the week and does strength training on the off days. It’s not too bad though, she’s only gone four or five hours most of the time.”

“Hey Luna, when you said you got deja-vu looking at Draco, I felt something like that as well. A really strong… like I felt sorry for him,” Granger said.

“Pity,” Ron said. There was a pause. “What? That’s just how I felt when I first saw him, but he _was_ standing there in the middle of the street looking like a kicked puppy.”

“Yeah,” Granger said slowly, “Maybe it’s just because I know what he’s going through.”

“Hm? What’s that?” Ginevra asked.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall.

“He was disowned. Had his last name taken from him,” Ron said.

“How awful,” Luna said.

“Hey, we shouldn’t talk about him when he isn’t here,” Potter said, sounding defensive.

Draco smiled faintly.

“You would say that,” Ginevra teased.

“I wasn’t going to say anything else,” Ron said, “I’m not a gossip. Just… so you know, you all give him a fair shot.”

Potter sighed, “I’m gonna- quit grinning.”

There a sound, and footsteps, but Draco didn’t bother moving or pretending hadn’t been listening. All the people at that table hated him when they knew him, or pitied him. He felt exhausted.

Potter stopped, staring at him. Then surprisingly, he came over and joined Draco, sitting next to him on the floor and casting a bubble of silence around them.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said.

“About what?” Draco asked.

“Well,” Potter said, “If you wanted everyone to know that about you, you’d have told us.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather know what people think about me,” Draco said.

“That’s… one way of looking at it,” Potter said, “I don’t like it, though.”

Draco huffed in amusement.

Potter leaned a little closer, so their shoulders touched.

Draco closed his eyes, his mind focusing entirely on that little point of warmth between them.

“...Are you okay?”

Draco nodded.

“You’re sitting in a pub hallway by yourself,” Potter said.

“I’m not by myself,” Draco said, glancing over at Potter.

Potter raised an eyebrow.

Draco closed his eyes again, letting himself lean his weight against Potter just a little. “...I’ve been..” he sighed. “I was alone for a long time. ...I got a little overwhelmed.”

“Should I go?” Potter asked.

“No,” Draco said and was surprised that he meant it, “Stay.”

“That’s good, because I wanted to,” Potter said.

“Can I call you Harry?”

“Yeah? You don’t have to ask,” Harry said.

“I do. Because it’s different. I think it helps that it’s different,” Draco said.

Harry pressed his hand against Draco’s forehead for a second.

“Just checking for a fever,” Harry said, “You do feel a little warm. If you wanted to leave-”

“I’ll stay a little while longer,” Draco said. “I forgot to thank you for the radio. I should have written, but I don’t have an owl of my own and I’ve been too busy to stop by the post.”

“I wasn’t sure what sort of thing you bought for a house warming gift so I- I’m glad you like it,” Harry said.

Draco nodded and slowly opened his eyes, “Help me up?”

Harry helped pull Draco to his feet, and they went back to the table. Ginevra was leaning close to Luna, listening to something she was whispering in her ear.

“I ordered, chips and... more chips!” Ron said.

Granger sighed.

“What? Everyone likes chips,” Ron said.

Granger shook her head with a faint fond smile, “Yes. Yes, they do.”

“I wanna apologise for being a bit too mean,” Ginevra said, “I feel kind of angry from some reason, and I shouldn’t be taking out on you guys.”

Potter nodded, “Sure.”

“Bout time-” Ron said.

“Not you,” Ginevra said, “Brothers don’t count.”

“What?” Ron said.

“You heard me,” Ginevra said, “I don’t have to be nice to you, that’s the benefit of siblings, practically the only one.”

Potter laughed.

“Ginny-” Granger chastised.

“Only children don’t get a say, you don’t get it,” Ginevra said.

Granger frowned.

“She’s kind of right. Much as I hate to say it,” Ron said. “It’s just how we are, you know?”

“No. Quite frankly that sounds like nonsense,” Granger said petulantly.

Ginevra laughed, and Ron started to laugh, only to turn it into a guilty cough as Granger glared at him. Draco felt Potter lean against him ever so slightly, and was filled with a quiet calmness that let him smile as the rest of the table bickered on.

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eggy bread also known as: French toast, German toast, eggy bread, French-fried bread, Poor Knights of Windsor, Spanish toast, nun's toast, and pain perdu.

  
  


Early the next morning, Draco apparated back to the iron gates of the Manor.

“State your purpose!” The gate demanded.

“I’d like to speak to Libbi, the house elf,” Draco said.

After a minute, the little elf appeared on the other side of the fence, looking at Draco warily, “It is you again.”

Draco nodded, “I just want to know if the Mistress is doing well.”

Libbi lifted her chin defiantly, “The mistress is well. And you will be leaving her and Libbi alone.” she snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Draco went back to his flat and tried to read more about how mental spells affected the mind, but he couldn’t focus. He should be happy that his mother was doing well… that she was writing to her sister. Draco frowned, how many times had he suggested she do just that, but _now_ she was doing it. That was good. But it didn’t feel that way.

Draco did his best to study but couldn’t concentrate for more than five or ten minutes at a time. He tried to push himself through it but spent a lot of time sleeping, eating when he remembered and was rather relieved when it was time to go back to work on Monday.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


His second week, he found the work didn’t tire him as much. He could scrub out even the largest cauldron, which he had to bend nearly double to reach the bottom of, with much less soreness the next day. It seemed like Florence’s potion inventories were getting easier and easier to manage, with smaller brewing batches needed to fill up the stores. Draco had requested a filing cabinet, charmed to be almost endless but he hadn’t yet figured out what papers to save and which he could vanish. To put that off as long as possible, he instead spent his spare hours creating an inventory of ingredients so he could order those they were running low on and test some of the older ingredients for potency.

Draco was testing some mugwort he had found in a neglected drawer when a paper-aeroplane sailed into the room and gently tapped him on the head. It said he had a visitor waiting in the entrance hall.

“Hubert, I’m going to go have my… break? It might end up being my lunch depending on long it takes me,” Draco said.

Hubert didn’t look up from his cauldron, absently waving Draco off.

When Draco came into the front desk, he saw Harry’s hair first, a shock of black above the crowd and headed towards it.

“Did you get hurt again?” Draco asked.

Harry’s face broke into a grin as he turned, “No, I’m fine. I was just-”

“Oh. _Oooh_. So this is why you volunteered us to come and take statements,” A woman said, a cheeky smile in her voice before Draco even moved to see her. It took a second to recognise her, Draco hadn’t seen Lavender Brown since school, and he hadn’t seen much of her then. She mostly kept to her small social circle and wasn’t involved in Potter’s drama. The biggest change was the three scars marking her dark skin, across her cheek and over her mouth from where she had been attacked by Greyback in the last battle. She wore a cocky confidence that carried the scars better than any style or makeup.

“Lavender Brown,” Lavender said, holding out a hand, “I’m Potter’s auror partner for my sins.”

“Draco,” Draco said, “What sort of sins are those?”

“Don’t-” Harry tried.

“Mainly being the only one who’ll put up with him,” Lavender said.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Then it seems to be self-inflicted, you must have a martyr complex.”

Lavender laughed.

“Oh, but suppose Harry already has that covered,” Draco said.

“I like you!” Lavender said, “Even if you are making Harry a distracted mess.”

“Lav, please,” Harry said.

Lavender jabbed Potter with her elbow, “But it’s been ages since I’ve had something to tease you about.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You tease me about everything.”

“Ages since I’ve had anything _new_ to tease you about,” Lavender said.

“Great,” Harry muttered.

A mediwizard tapped Lavender on the shoulder, “The patient is okayed give a statement now, but Healer Saundra says you can’t let them get overexcited or you’ll have to leave.”

Lavender nodded, “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“I should come with you,” Harry said reluctantly.

Lavender gave him an amused look, “Healer said we can’t get them overexcited, that means no Hero Harry Potter’s, _sorry_.”

“I’ll, uh, meet you-”

“At the cafeteria?” Draco suggested.

Harry nodded.

“Alright,” Lavender said, giving them a wave as she followed the mediwizard, “Get me a coffee while you’re there!”

“You can go back to work if you need to. I just wanted to say hello,” Harry said.

“I haven’t had my lunch yet,” Draco said, leading the way down to the cafeteria.

“Oh, me neither. Is the food any good?” Potter asked.

“Don’t touch the curry, no matter how good it smells. The soup and sandwiches are decent, except the tuna which is not reliably… anything worth eating,” Draco said.

“That’s a shame. I like curry,” Potter said.

“It’s the curry that doesn’t like people. I’m personally no good with spicy food, even when it isn’t malevolent,” Draco said.

Potter nodded, “Sounds about right.”

Draco shot him a look.

Potter laughed, “Not like that! I just meant that all my friends are the same way. I never really even had curry until after school, but it turns out I have a pretty high tolerance for spicy curry.”

Draco made a face.

“I like it! It’s really good,” Potter insisted. “I’ve wondered if it’s genetic, ‘cause of my dad’s family being from India.”

“They are?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, as far as I can tell. It’s hard to find any information on them other than the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion stuff. I kinda lost all my family history when my parents home got destroyed, and the war killed off most of the people that really knew them.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said quietly, suddenly aching aware of what it felt like to have his history stripped from him.

“It’s alright...” Potter said, “Well, it’s not, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

They got in line, and Draco ordered a turkey sandwich and a small bowl of tomato soup, Potter got the same. They sat at one of the many metal and plastic tables around the room.

Harry said, “Uh….do you want to do something when you have a day off? If you’re not too busy.”

“I’m sure I’ll do _something_ on my day off,” Draco said, teasing just a little.

Harry rolled his eyes, “I meant with me.”

Draco dipped the corner of his sandwich in the soup and took a bite letting Harry wait. He was going to say yes. Other than the sleep, having so much time on his hands only made him miserable. He’d still have enough time to research.

“As long as it’s not too early, then yes. I have the weekends off,” Draco said.

Harry smiled. It still felt strange to see such a happy expression on Harry’s face because of something he had done.

“What about Saturday then?” Harry asked.

“Sounds perfect,” Draco said, “...By the way, didn’t you say you were going to get coffee for your partner?”

“Shit,” Harry shot to his feet, “I’ll be right back.”

Draco was sure he would be.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Saturday morning, Draco woke with the dawn light, sweat sticking to his skin, his heart racing from a nightmare. He would still see it, vivid as the day it had actually happened, his mother in bed, face flushed from fever, breathing rapidly and Draco unable to do anything to help. In the nightmare, she died. In the past, she lingered, survived, seemed to be getting stronger only to get sick all over again.

The healers at St Mungo’s had been useless, at best stabilising her with potions Draco could brew himself, but they couldn’t fix what was wrong with her. That had called it something like broken heart syndrome and said there was nothing they could do. So Draco had studied potions, gotten his NEWT’s, tried to work at St Mungo’s, tried to get apprenticed for Mastery in Potions; all to help his mother. But he hadn’t been able to.

Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so he took a shower, trying to wash the sweat from his skin and worry from his mind. He only managed one.

So he dressed and left the store, so early he had to use his key, and apparated to the Manor.

“State your purpose!” The gate demanded.

“I want to speak to Libbi,” Draco said.

The gate went still, and Draco shivered as he waited, but there was no pop of apparation only the gate once more opening its mouth, “Denied!”

“What?” Draco frowned, “Then- then Taldy!”

“ _Denied_!” The gate bellowed.

“What about Jasli! Or Koby!?” Draco said, grabbing hold of the cold iron.

The gate narrowed the shapes of metal eyes at him, “All your requests are denied!”

Draco stood there, silence ringing in his ears as the face morphed back into curling black iron. He took a breath, then another, slowly reaching through the metal to the wards just beyond and felt them push back against him. Draco jerked his hand back from the hostile magic. Libbi couldn’t have turned them against Draco on her own, she would have to have permission from one of the family.

So Mother was alive. But that was all he knew.

Draco went back to the flat, returning a weak wave to Ron’s greeting. He knew it was more important than ever to focus himself on reversing the curse so that he could make sure his mother was safe but… somehow he ended up laying on his narrow bed, staring at the wall.

Draco didn’t know how long he lay there, how much time had passed.

“Draco? Are you awake? Or, err...” Harry said, the stairs creaking as he came up.

Draco forced himself to sit up, rubbing his face. He had forgotten Harry was coming.

“If you’re not feeling well-” Harry offered.

“I had a nightmare,” Draco said.

“Oh. I- yeah, I know all about nightmares. Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps,” Harry said.

“My mother died, and there was nothing I could do to help her,” Draco said.

Rather than be put off, Harry just nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, I, uh have a lot of those sorts of dreams.”

“Does anything help?” Draco asked.

“Talking to someone mostly, to try and get my mind off it.” Harry laughed weakly, “I’ve woken most of my friends in the middle of the night more than once and then talked their ears off about quidditch or whatever show I’m watching.”

“I don’t have anyone like that,” Draco said.

“There’s me,” Harry said and then glanced away, embarrassed, “I’d listen whenever you needed. If you wanted.”

“That’s… very kind,” Draco said.

Harry looked around, “About today. We don’t have to go out. There’s always other days.”

“I don’t particularly want to go anywhere-”

Harry nodded, trying to hide his disappointment.

“-but I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts either,” Draco said.

Harry brightened up.

And in the moment of silence, Draco’s stomach decided to grumble loudly. He pressed a hand over it, embarrassed, “I forgot to eat this morning.”

“What about pancakes?” Harry said, “I could show you how to make them, or eggy bread. I don’t have a waffle iron, so waffles are out. And I have some frozen fruit so we could make a compote-”

“What’s a compote?” Draco asked.

“It’s just fruit cooked with sugar,” Harry said

“I’ve always preferred fruit to syrup,” Draco said.

“I have everything at my place,” Harry said. Then stopped, “If you want to?”

Draco nodded, “I do. And I get to see where you live.”

“It’s not much,” Potter said, “We can floo over.”

They went downstairs, Harry grabbing some floo powder from a bowl over the mantle. “I’ll go through first and open the wards for you. So wait a minute before following.”

“What do I call?” Draco asked.

“Potter’s Cottage in Croftside,” Harry said.

Draco repeated it to make sure he heard it correctly, and Harry went through first. Draco counted the seconds before stepping into the floo and calling the address.

He stepped out into a small cosy cottage. Plush, comfortable-looking armchairs and a matching couch took up the centre of the room, all draped in soft knitted throw blankets. There was a muggle television, and the walls were covered in photos of all Harry’s friends and family. Draco could spot little touches around the room that spoke of other people, a mobile made of beach glass and beads, a bright orange Cannons pennant next to a Harpies pennant, a bookshelf with Hogwart’s a History, and some vibrant green plants by the window. There was music playing from a wireless near the archway, and as Draco stepped through, the music followed him into the next room.

Harry was in the kitchen putting a large metal griddle on the stovetop, “I was just getting everything ready. Which do you want to make? Pancakes or eggy bread?”

“We’re not going to make both?” Draco asked, and then felt embarrassed but his own childish disappointment.

“We can make both,” Harry said, grabbing a shallow dish. “How about eggy bread first? It’s easier.”

“The compote?” Draco said.

“Right!” Harry grabbed a saucepan and set it on a back burner, dumping in a bag of mixed frozen berries and a spoonful of sugar.

“How do you know how much sugar to put in?” Draco asked.

“I eyeball it,” Harry said with a shrug, “I usually add less than I think I’ll need. You can always add more sugar, but you can’t take it out if it gets too sweet.”  
“You could add more fruit,” Draco said, leaning against the counter to watch.

“If you want, but that way, too much compote lies,” Harry joked.

Draco smiled, “Now what?”

“We let the fruit cook down until it’s a little syrupy or we run out of patience,” Harry said.

“And the eggy bread?” Draco asked.

“It’s an egg and a splash of milk,” Harry headed to the fridge, “Can you grab a fork, they’re in that drawer next to you.”

Draco handed him a fork and Harry showed him how to whisk the egg and milk together with some vanilla and a touch of cinnamon.

“And then you soak the bread in it and fry it on the griddle,” Harry said, “You can make it savoury too if you want, with no vanilla and cinnamon but I’d rather have it sweet.”

Draco nodded in agreement. Standing close to Harry, they took turns soaking bread in the mix and setting the slices on the griddle, two for each of them. Draco was sure that could have used some sort of tool to make the job easier, but there was something charming about standing shoulder to shoulder, hands messy, a sweet smell rising as the compote and bread began to cook.

“Are you going to make me flip them?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said with a grin.

They ran their hands under the faucet, Harry dried his hands on a towel and tossed it at Draco. While Draco dried his hands, Harry grabbed a spoon and stirred the simmering compote. The song changed on the wireless and Harry began unconsciously swaying to the music.

“Do you dance?” Draco asked, taken by the idea.

“Badly, and only when I have to,” Harry said with a rueful grin.

“Everyone’s bad when they start. You only really enjoy it once you’ve used to it,” Draco said and held out his hand.

Harry shook his head, “No. No way, I’ll flatten your toes.”

“Then take off your shoes, and I’ll leave mine on,” Draco said.

Harry hesitated, “It’s going to be awful.”

“You’ve seen me utterly fail to pick up an egg,” Draco said.

Harry made a face but kicked his trainers into the corner and took his hand.

“Follow my lead,” Draco said, putting his hand on Harry’s waist.

“Alright,” Harry said, putting his hand on Draco’s shoulder and staring at the floor as Draco began to step, always about a half a beat behind.

“Look at me, not the floor,” Draco said.

“I have to-”

“Trust me,” Draco said, and as Harry looked up, he began softly counting the steps as they moved. Every time Harry nervously glanced at the floor, Draco would glare teasingly only to smile a second later, Harry smiling ruefully back. As the song faded and came to an end, Draco held on just a little bit longer, letting Harry pull away to flip over the eggy bread, two of them.

He handed the spatula to Draco.

Draco sighed, “I was hoping you forgot.”

“Nah,” Harry grinned.

Draco took the spatula and quickly flipped the other two. They landed at funny angles, far away from where they had been originally but still on the griddle. Draco considered it a success and held out his hand, “Another dance?”

Harry smiled and took his hand.

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

  
The next week of work, Hubert took a sudden interest in Draco practising all the potions that could potentially be on the NEWT’s. So for the last hour of the day, instead of studying, he stood over a cauldron, Hubert at his elbow watching his every move. With every day that passed, Hubert introduced more and more difficult potions, often having Draco brew them in multiple odd-numbered doses.

Friday, he told Draco he was going to be brewing a potion that Draco knew for a fact wasn’t on the NEWT curriculum. It was a potion meant to restore nutritional deficiencies. Before modern spell diagnostics, which could determine precisely what a patient needed from vitamin d to calcium, they would brew this potion. It was rarely needed in the hospital now and tricky to brew. Draco knew because he had tried and failed to numerous times while making one for his mother, not that it had helped then. But now, the experiences granted him a level of confidence he wouldn’t otherwise have.

The brewing required minute amounts of thirty-seven different ingredients in specific weights that had to be added at exactly the right time. A time that he had had to learn through trial and error as no book had an accurate ingredient introduction mapped out. Draco didn’t even notice Hubert’s hovering as he stood in front of the cauldron. He held a stirring rod in one hand, and the next ingredient in the other, hardly daring to blink as he watching the swirling potion shift in shade and translucence. He didn’t let himself relax until it was done, sweat sticking his shirt to his back like a second skin as he leaned away from the heat of the cauldron.

“Seal and bottle them,” Hubert said nodding, “We can rotate out three of the oldest ones in the potion stores.”

Draco stared blankly at him, “Sir- Hubert? I’m not allowed to brew anything for hospital use am I?”

“I watched you every second, every step. It’s as good as mine, I’ll vouch for that,” Hubert said.

Hubert stood back, arms crossed as he watched Draco get the potion vials and set up the funnels.

Draco filled the bottles and sealed them with rubber stoppers, charmed to a tight seal.

“What are your plans after getting your NEWT’s?” Hubert asked.

Draco paused, “Working here?”

Hubert’s moustache pulled down in a faint frown, “I meant, have you given any thought to becoming a Master Potion Brewer.”

“I-I would like to, yes,” Draco said carefully.

Hubert nodded to himself, “I’ve never taken on an apprentice before. It would probably take longer than the standard five years, and I’m not a patient teacher.”

“Are you- do you mean you would be willing to take me on?” Draco asked.

“That’s what I just said,” Hubert said, “It’d be useful to have someone to take on some of the emergency brewing, sometimes they need two or even three potions at once. And I’d rather know there was someone competent to take over when I retire. Best way to be sure is to train you myself.”

“I- Yes, absolutely. I’d- I’d love to. Thank you so much, Hubert,” Draco said shakily.

“Don’t thank me, I’m sure it’s going to be terrible,” Hubert said, “Let’s get this cleaned up and finish for the day.”

Draco finished labelling the vials, and they cleaned up the lab for the next week. Hubert walked out with Draco, stopping at the potion stores and replacing the old nutritional deficiencies potions with the ones Draco had brewed. He felt proud, his chest tight and pounding with excitement. He had originally only cared about working here and getting a Mastery to help his mother, but now that it was happening he felt excited about the future.

Ron waved him down as soon as he got back to the Weasley’s shop, “Coming to the pub tonight?”

Draco nodded, “I just need to change.”

“No rush, got an hour and a half before closing,” Ron said and then rushed over to help an older woman struggling to reach something on a high shelf.

Draco went upstairs and showered, changing into a grey pullover and dark blue jeans. He still wasn’t quite sure about muggles obsession with wearing blue trousers, but he had liked the darker ones well enough, and they were very comfortable.

When he came downstairs an hour later, he saw Granger first, standing against the wall, reading a book while she waited.

“Hello,” Draco said cautiously.

Granger looked up and smiled, “Draco! I’m glad you’re coming. I didn’t get to talk with you much last week.”

“Same,” Draco said, “Were you working late? Ron said you often both work late.”

“Me more than him,” Granger said ruefully, marking her place and closing the book, “There just aren’t enough hours in the day.”

“Where do you work?” Draco asked.

“The Ministry.” Granger sighed, “The ‘Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’ to be specific.”

“You… don’t like it?” Draco guessed.

“I do! I just- I hate the name. Wizards treat other magical beings so terribly. It _has_ improved lately, and I’ve been doing what I can to help, but that _name_ , it just doesn’t help,” Granger said.

“Yes… the ‘Control’ leaves a bad taste in your mouth doesn’t it,” Draco said.

“’Regulation’ isn’t much better,” Granger said, “I know it’s not as important as what the department _does_ but still… I’ll have to put in another request to change it with the Wizegamot.”

“Good luck with that,” Ron said, pulling on a long coat as he walked over, “they hate changing anything. Bet they say something like, ‘it’s part of our heritage’.”

“Well, their heritage is racist,” Granger said shortly.

“I imagine that’s why they like it,” Draco said.

Granger sighed.

“Fuck ‘em,” Ron said, putting an arm around Granger’s shoulders, “Let’s go drink a few pints and unwind, eh?”

“Alright, alright,” Granger said.

They all went outside, pausing while Ron locked up and then slowly made their way along the cobbled street up to the pub.

“Uh… so you and Harry then?” Ron said suddenly.

Granger laughed, “Really Ron?”

“Shut up,” Ron said, his face turning red, “We’re like Harry’s family, we have to look after him.”

“Yes, but now?” Granger said.

Ron frowned, tucking his chin into his coat, “Yeah, well, Harry’s dated some real plonkers.” he glanced over at Draco, “He’s really serious about you. More serious than he’s been in a long time and I don’t want him to get hurt, you know?”

“Ron-” Granger said.

“I just want to make sure you aren’t messing around or only care about the ‘famous harry potter’ guff,” Ron went on doggedly.

“I’m...” Draco felt his own face get hot and had to look at the ground to say the rest, “I’m not messing around. I just want to take things slow.”

“Well,” Ron cleared his throat, looking away at the shop fronts, “that’s alright then.”

Granger laughed, “Merlin, you two. Why are men so bad at this sort of thing?”

Draco smiled weakly, “Lack of practice probably.”

The pub was already filling up and loud with shouts and singing when they arrived. Somehow Ginevra and Luna had managed to get the same table that had last week. Neville Longbottom and Harry were sitting on the other side of the table. Luna and Longbottom seemed to be having an in-depth discussion about rare plants, while Harry and Ginevra were arguing about quidditch.

“Hey, Nev!” Ron said, “It’s been ages, mate!”

Longbottom smiled and got up, pulled into a one-armed hug with Ron.

“This is Draco, he’s new to London,” Ron said, patting Draco’s shoulder.

“Hello,” Draco said.

Longbottom stared at him with a frown.

“Nev?” Ron said.

Longbottom shook his head, “Sorry. Draco? Was it? You sort of look like Lucius Malfoy.”

There was a collective groan from around the table.

“Only if he sucked on a lemon for twenty years!” Ginevra said.

“It’s just the hair,” Ron said.

“I don’t think so,” Luna said, “Draco’s heart is a completely different shape.”

Longbottom waved his hands placatingly, “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get that a lot,” Draco said quietly.

“Really, I am sorry,” Longbottom said, forcing on an awkward smile.

Draco shrugged, “More importantly. I would like to get the first round. Firstly because I got my first cheque-”

Everyone cheered

“-and second because my boss has offered to make me his apprentice for Potion’s Mastery.”

There was a larger cheer.

Ron slapped him hard on the back, “Congrats!”

“That’s amazing! Congratulations!” Granger said with a huge smile.

Harry got up from the table and then looked like he didn’t quite know where to go from there, eventually settling on holding out a hand.

Draco laughed and pulled him into a hug.

Harry squeezed him tight, “Congratulations. You look great, by the way.”

“Drinks! Drinks! Drinks!” Ginevra started chanting.

Ron leaned over the table to put his hand over her mouth. Ginevra grabbed his arm and pulled him over, so he fell across her and Luna’s lap.   
“Ginny! Let me-! Sorry, Luna!” Ron said, trying to get up as Ginevra rubbed her knuckles on Ron’s head.

“I’m fine,” Luna said with a smile, resting her elbows on Ron’s back.

Granger eventually helped Ron up, and they sat next to Longbottom. Ron’s face had gone entirely red. He flicked a bar mat at Ginevra’s head.

“What does everyone want?” Draco asked before another squabble could break out.

He got a list of different drinks and went to the bar, Harry coming along to help. Draco had a cider though he barely drank any of it, content to be there in the middle of the warm friendship shared between these people.

Longbottom was the first to leave for the night. Luna and Ginevra left an hour or so later. Draco lingered by Harry’s side as he talked with Ron and Granger, the depth of their friendship showing in the easy comfort they had with one another.

“We should go, you have work tomorrow,” Granger said, leaning against Ron’s arm.

“So do you,” Ron said with a grin, and lifted his almost empty glass “Let me finish this pint.”

Harry had had a few pints and seemed tipsy though he had gotten quieter and quieter as he drank.

“There something else I forgot to tell you,” Harry said suddenly.

“Yeah, what?” Ron asked, lifting his glass and draining it.

“I visited Teddy,” Harry said.

“You see him a few times a week, don’t you?” Granger said.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, whenever I have time. So I can give Andromeda some time to herself. Teddy’s so rambunctious. He has so much energy.”

“He’s a little boy. Mum had six of us, it’s a wonder she survived,” Ron said.

“So I try to help, but I know- I _know_ she probably needs more. She’s older and alone and-”

“Harry? Mate? There a point to this?” Ron asked.

“Right...” Harry sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair, “Narcissa’s moving in with her.”

Draco went still.

“I met her last time I went over,” Harry said, “She’s really quiet. Apparently. She was sick for a while, but she’s getting better now.”

“Are you worried about Teddy?” Granger asked.

Draco’s hands began to shake, and he quickly put them in his lap to hide it.

“...No? I feel like I should be, but Narcissa was really great. She even asked my permission to be in his life. Like if I said no, she would have moved back to the empty tomb of a house she used to live in,” Harry said.

“That’s good then?” Ron said.

“Yeah… It is. I just feel like I failed,” Harry said.

Granger reached across the table and put her hand over his, “Oh, Harry, of course you didn’t. You work full time, you have your own life, Andromeda wouldn’t want you to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

“But I’m his godfather,” Harry said.

“And you’re doing a great job,” Granger said.

Harry sighed, “I’m trying.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Ron said.

“Besides,” Granger said, “It’s like Luna said, Narcissa was probably lonely.”

“Andromeda too,” Harry said, “Teddy keeps her so busy she really doesn’t have time to go out. I don’t even know if she has any friends. I’m just being selfish, trying to do it all by myself. I should be happy for Andy and Ted.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

“You alright, Draco?” Ron asked.

Draco looked up and smiled faintly, “I’m just feeling a bit tired.”

Granger nodded, “Yeah, we should all go home. You didn’t drink much Draco, so could you make sure Harry gets home?”

“Has he keyed you into the wards?” Ron asked.

“Last week,” Harry said, “We made pancakes and eggy bread.”

“See you next week?” Granger asked.

“Most likely,” Draco said.

“I’ll be there,” Harry said.

They all got up and said their goodbyes, going out to the street and apparating away. Holding tight to Harry’s arm, Draco side-alonged him to his cottage, landing in the living room. A few lamps lent the room a soft glow, the wireless still played. Draco wondered if it was always on.

Harry swayed, “Bedroom, that way. Sorry, apparition makes me queasy even when I don’t have three pints in me.”

Harry leaned heavily on his shoulder as Draco walked them to a small cosy bedroom. The bed was heaped with plush blankets and pillows. Harry collapsed onto it before Draco could even pull the duvet back, kicking his shoes off with his eyes closed.

“You should drink some water,” Draco said.

Harry made a noise, not bothering to open his eyes, “ ‘s fine.”

Draco rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. “Drink,” he said, holding it out.

“ ‘s okay, really,” Harry said.

Draco grabbed him by the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him upright, “Drink the water, Potter.”

Harry opened his eyes in surprise and took the glass. Draco let him go once he was sure Harry was properly sitting up.

“Thought I was Harry now,” Harry said, drinking his water.

“Only when you aren’t being impossible,” Draco said, regretting that it had slipped out.

Harry grinned. He set the cup back down and collapsed back on his pile of pillows, “You can stay if you want. Just to sleep. Here or the couch.”

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said.

Harry closed his eyes again, “I hope you do. I like you being around.”

“Is that so?” Draco said. He sat on the edge of the bed so he could take Harry’s glasses off, carefully folding the arms and setting them on the side table.

“Ever since I first saw you, I felt drawn to you. I want to know everything about you and spend every day with you. I can’t stop thinking about you,” Harry said, sleepy and soft.

Draco remembered when he first met Harry in the robe shop. Something about the gangly boy had pulled at him and made him talk, to try and impress him. Looking back on it, he had managed to say all the wrong things, but the feeling hadn’t faded. He still wanted that boy’s attention.

“I feel drawn to you as well,” Draco said.

But Harry didn't respond. Draco wondered if he was asleep, as his expression slowly softened and his breathing deepened.

Draco tentatively touched Harry’s hair, letting a few curling strands pull through his fingers. Harry shifted closer into Draco’s touch, and Draco let himself indulge in this, combing his hand through Harry’s smooth black hair, marvelling at the slight natural curl and how it seemed to flow through his fingers like water.

Draco pushed off his shoes and lay down on the edge of the bed, studying Harry’s face in the soft light.

And he realised that he wasn’t going to break the curse.

His mother’s health was improving, and she was reconnecting with her family, she was happier now. And he had his dream job, new _good_ friends and Harry Potter, a Harry that _wanted_ him.

Everyone was happier not remembering he existed. Even him.

“oh,” the word slipped from Draco as his eyes began to burn with tears. He turned his face into the pillow.

He wondered what his mother looked like now with another little boy in her arms. Would she sing him to sleep like she had Draco, brushing the hair off his forehead and calling him her precious star? Would she walk with Teddy through the gardens, telling him to be careful not to hurt himself? When his mother held Teddy, would she remember the ghost of Draco in a feeling of deja-vu?

He cried until he was spent, wrung out and hollow, and the pillow was damp beneath his cheeks.

“Draco?” Harry said sleepily, carefully touching Draco’s cheek.

Draco turned his face to Harry, his voice rough from crying “Do you ever have those nightmares where you think you’ve woken up but you haven’t, and you live your day, but it’s just slightly wrong, not the way it ought to be-”

“-And then you wake up in a cold sweat. I hate those dreams,” Harry said.

“Me too,” Draco said softly. But he wasn’t going to wake up.

He leaned close, looking from Harry’s eyes to his lips before kissing him, a soft brush of lips and the breath lost between them.

“I’m ready to go a little bit faster now,” Draco said in the space between them, “Thank you for waiting.”

Harry smiled and kissed him back.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!


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